THE  JERICHO  EOAD; 


A  STORY 


OF 


WESTERN  LIFE. 


"A  certain  man  went  down  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho,  and 
fell  among  thieves,  which  stripped  him  of  his  raiment,  and 
wounded  him,  and  departed,  leaving  him  half  dead." 


CHICAGO : 
JANSEN,  McCLURG-  &  CO. 

1877. 


COPYRIGHT. 

JANSEN,  MCCLURG  «  co. 

A.  D.  1876. 


•nBEOTYPED  AND  PRIKTED 

BY   THB 
CHICAGO  LEOAt  SEWS  CO. 


PEEFACE. 


WHILE  reading  of  the  poor  fellow  who  had  so  hard  a  time  on 
the  road  to  Jericho,  two  thousand  years  ago,  I  have  often  wondered 
what  would  have  happened  had  not  the  Good  Samaritan  come  along. 
Similar  accidents  have  occurred  when  the  Good  Samaritan  was  longed 
for,  but  failed  to  put  in  an  appearance;  when  priests  and  Levites 
passed  by  in  unending  procession;  when  the  thieves  had  such  an  air 
of  respectability  that  the  victim  naturally  wondered  if  a  reputation 
for  honesty  did  not  depend  more  upon  profession  than  upon  practice, 
and  where  the  needed  relief  came  finally  from  people  as  low  morally  as 
the  Samaritan  was  socially.  The  true  career  of  the  person  whom  I  have 
called  Lem  Pankett  would  be  scouted  as  improbable  if  I  told  it  as  it 
occurred.  It  has  therefore  been  relieved  of  some  of  its  rougher  cor- 
ners and  darker  shadows;  but  I  believe  enough  remains  to  show  the 
risk  which  society  runs  in  allowing  the  vicious  to  take  care  of  the 
weak.  I  do  not  attempt  to  prove  that  the  weak  naturally  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  wicked,  for  every  observing  person  already  knows 
that  this  is  the  rule. 
If  the  religion  of  some  of  my  characters  seems  of  doubtful  quality, 


Ml 


4  Preface. 

the  discredit  belongs  to  the  persons  themselves,  and  not  to  their 
beliefs.  There  are  few  rascals,  excepting  those  of  the  highest  culture, 
who  are  entirely  without  religious  sentiments,  and  who  do  not  bend 
their  best  logical  powers  to  the  task  of  reconciling  their  practices 
with  their  beliefs.  Possibly  some  of  my  readers — when  they  examine 
their  neighbor's  hearts — may  admit  that  this  habit  is  not  entirely 
confined  to  scamps. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter.  Page. 

I.    IN  WHICH  THE  HERO  is  INTRODUCED,       ...  7 

II.    IN  WHICH  THE   HERO  FINDS  AND  LOSES    ONE    OP 

HIS  EARLIEST  ACQUAINTANCES,            ...  19 

III.  DELINEATING  A  CERTAIN  POPULAR  IMPRESSION  CON- 

CERNING THE  NATURE  OP  HUMAN  SYMPATHY,     .  27 

IV.  IN  WHICH  THE  HERO  is  PUNISHED  FOR  APPRECIA- 

TING THE  MERITS  OP  HIS  BEST  FRIEND,    .        .  38 
V.    IN  WHICH  CAUSE  FOLLOWS  EFFECT  IN   A  MANNER 

PERFECTLY  NATURAL, 50 

VI.    THE  HERO  EXPLAINS,           58 

VII.    THE  INNOCENT  SUFFERS  FOR  THE  GUILTY,    .        .  68 
VIII.    THE  DOCTOR  GETS  ABOVE  HIS  BUSINESS  AND   DOES 

NOT  ESCAPE  REBUKE, 74 

IX.    IN  WHICH  THE  SQUIRE  ATTEMPTS  STRATEGY,        .  84 
X.    DR.  BEERS  GOES  HUNTING  WITH  UNEXPECTED  RE- 
SULTS,        93 

XI.    "  REGULATORS'  "  COURT, 101 

XII.    THE  RIGHTEOUS  SHALL  SUFFER  PERSECUTION,  .  Ill 


6  Contents. 

Chapter.  Page. 

XIII.  PRIESTS  AND  LEVITES, 118 

XIV.  A  NEW  EXPERIENCE, 126 

XV.  THE  SQUIRE'S    RELIGIOUS   INTEREST    IN    LEM    is 

CRUELLY  ABUSED, 136 

XVI.  THE  HERO  FORMS  SOME  MONEYED  ACQUAINTANCES,  145 

XVII.      A  MISDIRECTED   MISSIONARY   EFFORT.          .           .           .  153 

XVIII.    THE  WISDOM  OF  SERPENTS, 161 

XIX.    FRIENDS  IN  COUNCIL,          ...'..  167 

XX.    IN  WHICH  THE  HERO  STICKS  TO  HIS  FRIENDS,     .  181 

XXI.    PUBLIC  OPINION,  .                188 

XXII.    WESTERN  COURTS  AND  WESTERN  JUSTICE,  .        .  196 

XXIII.  IN  WHICH  THE  HERO  ESCAPES  FROM  THE  ROAD,     .  207 

XXIV.  Two  COUPLES  OF  PENITENTS,         ....  215 

CONCLUSION 220 


THE  JERICHO  ROAD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

IN   WHICH   THE    HERO    IS   INTRODUCED. 

"  LIVELY,  boys,  lively  !  Trot  along  !  '  Taint  no  time  to 
try  the  turtle-step.  While  you're  a-creepin'  along  like 
an  angle- worm  funeral,  the  Wabash  is  a-fallin',  and  if  we 
get  stuck  way  up  the  river,  so  's  we  have  to  lay  up  all 
summer,  and  you  have  to  hoof  it  to  deep  water,  you  can 
blame  your  own  lazy  legs  for  it." 

The  speaker  was  Captain  Sam  Bates,  of  the  river  packet 
"  Helen  Douglas,"  and  his  hearers  were  the  deck  hands, 
or  "  roustabouts,"  who  were  engaged  in  the  operation  of 
"  wooding  up."  To  the  passengers,  the  men  seemed  to 
move  with  great  alacrity,  and  the  large  pile  of  wood  on 
the  bank  appeared  literally  to  melt  under  their  touch,  but 
to  the  captain,  .anxious  to  get  up  the  Wabash  for  a  load 
of  freight,  and  to  get  out  again  before  the  river,  tempo- 


8"  T lie  Jericho  Road ; 

raril j  swollen  by  the  "  June  freshet,"  should  fall,  the 
men  seemed  to  move  as  if  going  to  church.  Besides, 
the  captain  had  to  say  something— -no  western  steam- 
boatman  in  good  standing  ever  imagined  that  a  steamboat 
could  be  wooded  up  unless  some  one  stood  at  the  rail 
and  roared  encouragingly  and  cursorily  throughout  the 
operation. 

Again  the  captain  raised  his  voice.  "  Come,  come — 
nobody  asked  you  to  go  back  in  the  country  and  cut 
down  trees  and  split  them  up  before  you  brought  wood 
aboard.  By  thunder,  I  believe  some  of  you  are  waiting 
to  have  the  wood  grow  before  you  pack  it  in.  I  wish 
I'd  have  wooded  down  at  Carrollton — there's  a  big  cem- 
etery there,  and  I  might  have  hired  a  few  corpses  to  tote 
in  wood,  just  to  show  you  fellows  how  business  is  done. 
Here !  yon  slim  fellow  ashore  there  (this  to  a  wretched 
looking  specimen  of  humanity,  who,  bent  half  double, 
and  with  hands  in  pockets,  was  looking  on),  freeze  in, 
and  show  them  snails  how  to  travel ! " 

The  person  addressed  undoubled  himself,  scrambled  up 
the  bank,  seized  several  sticks  of  wood,  and  hurried  up  the 
"return"  plank  and  aboard  the  boat  so  rapidly  and  reck- 
lessly as  to  strike  one  man  between  the  shoulders  with 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  9 

the  wood,  and  to  edge  another  off  the  plank  and  into  the 
water. 

"Bully!"  shouted  the  Captain,  as  a  volley  of  oaths 
came  up  from  the  injured  men,  and  from  others  against 
whom  the  new  man  rubbed  and  scraped.  "Bully!  Now 
you're  wakin'  up,  just  as  your  work's  about  done !  Lively, 
you  loafers,  or  you'll  be  left  behind!  Haul  in!  Put  it  to 
her,  Ben"  (this  to  the  pilot).  "  Cast  off  that  head-line, 
there." 

The  head-line  was  cast  off  as  the  pilot's  bell  rang;  the 
escape-pipes  groaned  like  demons  in  agony;  the  wheel, 
astern,  stirred  the  mud ;  and  the  boat  glided  slowly  from 
beneath  the  overhanging  boughs,  and  went  staggering 
and  trembling  up  the  Mississippi.  The  Captain  turned 
from  the  rail  with  the  countenance  of  a  saint,  conscious 
of  having  done  his  full  duty  towards  a  perverse  genera- 
tion, when  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  stranger  whose  perform- 
ances upon  the  gang-plank  had  awakened  the  spirits  of 
the  roustabouts. 

"  Hands  not  allowed  on  deck — trot!  "  exclaimed  the 
Captain,  when  the  man  stretched  forth  his  hands  appeal- 
ingly,  and  said: 

"Captain,  let  me  go  along,  won't  ye?    I  haint  done 


10  The  Jericho  Road ; 

nothin'  for  God  knows  how  long — been  down  with  ager 

, — an'  I've  got  a  family  to  look  out  for." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Captain,  looking  significantly  at  the 
stretch  of  water  between  the  boat  and  the  shore,  "  I 
reckon  I'll  have  to  take  you,  unless  I  drop  you  overboard, 
and  I  s'pose  you  wouldn't  think  that  kind  of  me.  Go 
below  and  tell  the  mate  to  take  your  time." 

The  new  hand  reached  the  boiler-deck,  and  reported 
to  the  mate.  That  functionary  surveyed  him  critically, 
hinted  that  the  captain  was  an  eternally  condemned  idiot 
for  employing  so  eternally  condemned  a  rack  of  bones, 
and  instructed  him  to  "  go  aft  with  the  other  roughs." 
Having  gone  aft,  the  young  man  did  not  experience  as 
cordial  a  reception  as  he  could  have  wished.  The  man 
he  had  knocked  off  the  plank  upbraided  him  in  scrip- 
tural language.  Another  man  was  dressing  an  ear  which 
had  been  wounded  by  a  stick  of  wood  carried  on  the 
shoulder  of  the  new  man,  and  a  gentleman  of  unusual 
length,  who  was  addressed  as  "Forkey,"  was  bemoaning 

•the  loss  of  a  hat,  his  only  one,  which  had  been  carriid 
away  by  the  stranger's  impetuous  rush. 

"  Most  carried  my  head  with  it,  too,"  remarked 
Forkey,  in  conclusion. 


A  /Story  of  Western  Life.  11 

"  I'm  mighty  sorry,  I  am,"  said  the  new-comer.  "  I 
hadn't  no  idee  of  doin'  any  harm,  but  I've  had  the  fever 
an'  ager  ever  sence  I  came  to  this  country,  an'  I  aint 
over  an'  above  stiddy  on  my  legs." 

"Whar  d'ye  come  from?"  asked  Mr.  Forkey,  some- 
what mollified. 

"  York  State,"  replied  the  stranger. 

"What  did  ye  ]eave  thar  fur?"  demanded  he  of  the 
wounded  ear.  "  The  West  wasn't  made  fur  blunderin' 
shadders  to  play  circus  in." 

"  I  had  to  leave,"  said  the  youth,  "  to  make  a  livin' 
for  the  folks." 

"Yer  aint  married?"  interrogated  a  gentleman  in  a 
red  shirt,  with  a  critically  contemptuous  look. 

"  IsTo — I  mean  dad's  folks,"  said  the  new  hand. 

"Old  man  hung?"  growled  "The  Parson,"  so  called 
because  he  was  the  meanest  man  on  board. 

"No!"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  straightening  and 
flushing;  "and  I'll  try  to  whip  any  man  who  says  he 
was.  He  was  a  shoemaker,  and  somebody  got  out  a 
story  that  he  stole,  so  folks  kind  o'  stopped  comin'  to 
him,  and  he  took  to  drinkin'.  One  day  he  was  half  mad 
with  whisky,  and  went  to  the  drug-store  and  ordered  two 


12  The  Jericho  Road; 

ounces  of  arsenic,  but  the  clerk  gave  him  ipecac  instid. 
Then  the  whole  family  got  sick,  an'  the  folks  found  some 
white  powder  in  the  bottom  of  the  milk-pitcher,  an' 
started  the  story  that  he  tried  to  pizen  the  family.  I 
guess  folks  is  sorry  now,  fur  he  left  town,  an'  haint  been 
seen  since — I  reckon  it  wore  on  him  so  bad  that  it  killed 
him." 

"  The  family  all  lived,  then?"  asked  the  Parson. 

"  Of  course  they  did,"  replied  the  young  man,  very 
quickly  and  indignantly. 

"  Parson,"  said  the  gentleman  in  the  red  shirt,  offering 
the  person  addressed  a  silver  dime,  "  take  Slim  up  to  the 
bar  and  treat  him  to  whisky;  he  needs  a  bracer — bad." 

"  Don't  you  s'pose  anybody  else  has  got  any  money? " 
growled  the  Parson,  giving  the  extended  hand  a  vigorous 
blow  which  sent  the  coin  flying  forward  to  the  boilers. 
Then  he  led  the  youth  to  the  upper  deck,  and  to  the 
outer  window  of  the  bar. 

The  gentleman  in  red  mumbled  great  oaths,  and  rubbed 
his  hand  until  the  couple  were  out  of  hearing.  Then  he 
spoke  up  hurriedly: 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  "  that  miserable  little  cuss  musen't 
be  tormented — he  aint  more  than  huli-wittt-d,  I  reckon. 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  13 

an'  what  wits  he  has  got  is  pretty  much  shook  to  pieces 
with  the  ager." 

"  That's  so,  Baker,"  remarked  a  very  hirsute  gentle- 
man, "  and  I  don't  believe  anybody  but  Parson  '11  trouble 
him,  but  he'll  pester  him  to  death,  if  he  gets  a  chance." 

"  He  shan't  get  a  chance,"  exclaimed  Forkey,  the  hat- 
less  individual.  "  I  know  Parson's  mean  ways  about  as 
well  as  anybody,  an'  I'll  app'int  myself  an  orphan 
asylum  committee  to  watch  the  old  scoundrel.  I  be- 
lieve  " 

"Sh — h — h here  they  come  now!"  whispered  Mr. 

Baker,  and  immediately  the  men,  twelve  or  fifteen  in  all, 
tried  to  look  as  if  they  had  not  beejn  talking  about  any- 
thing in  particular. 

"Where's  the  new  feller  to  bunk,  Baker?"  asked 
Forkey.  Mr.  Baker  seemed  the  universally  acknowl- 
edged leader  of  the  roustabouts,  to  whom  was  referred 
for  adjudication  all  questions  of  dispute  or  doubt. 

"That's  a  fact!"  exclaimed  Baker,  looking  around. 
«  Who's  got  a  whole  bunk  to  himself  ?" 

"  I  have!  "  shouted  the  Parson,  quickly. 

"Who  else?"  asked  Mr.  Baker.  No  one  answered. 
u  Your  bunk 's  a  top  one,  Parson,"  remarked  Mr.  Baker, 


14  The  Jericho  Road  / 

with  hypocritical  deference ;  "  it's  ruther  rough  to  make 
a  sickly  feller  climb  so  high.  S'pose  you  take  in  some- 
body from  down  below,  an'  give  Slim  a  chance  to  save 
his  breath." 

"  I  reckon,"  said  Parson,  with  even  an  uglier  express- 
ion of  countenance  than  that  which  he  habitually  wore, 
"  I  know  rules  aboard  boats.  A  man's  got  to  take  his 
luck.  "When  there's  only  one  bunk  open,  he  has  to  turn 
into  that,  no  matter  where  'tis." 

Mr.  Baker  began  to  trifle  suggestively  with  the  cuffs 
of  his  own  flannel  shirt,  but  the  tall  Forkey  whispered  in 
his  ear: 

"  I've  got  a  top  bunk,  right  opposite;  I'll  watch  him." 
Just  then  all  hands  were  called  forward  to  put  off  some 
freight  at  a  landing  which  the  boat  was  approaching,  so 
the  discussion  ended  without  physical  harm  to  any  one. 
The  watchful  Forkey,  however,  contrived  to  assist  the  new 
hand  long  enough  to  whisper: 

"Look  out  for  Parson!  It'll  be  first  of  the  month 
before  we  get  to  Cairo,  an'  then  we'll  get  our  pay. 
Parson  '11  steal  yours — every  dog-goned  cent  of  it." 

Then  Mr.  Baker  walked  aboard  beside  Slim,  ami 
in  an  undertone,  "Keep  yer  eye  skinned — that  old 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  15 

don't  mean  any  good — we'll  all  stand  by  yer — give  liim 
one  between  the  eyes  the  first  time  he  cuts  up  mean!" 
The  new  hand  was  considerably  disturbed  in  mind,  and 
his  perturbation  did  not  decrease  as  he  realized  how  com- 
pletely he  was  covered  by  the  Parson's  wing.  The  Par- 
son seated  Slim  beside  him  at  the  table,  and  even  helped 
him  to  food.  It  rather  astonished  Mr.  Baker  to  see  the 
Parson,  after  skillfully  appropriating  the  best  cuts  of 
meat,  as  was  his  usual  custom,  pass  his  plate  to  Master 
Slim,  and  content  himself  with  the  next  best  cuts  he  could 
find.  The  Parson  even  sweetened  Slim's  coffee  for  him, 
which  operation  caused  Forky  to  stealthily  whisper  to  the 
young  man: 

"  If  you  should  feel  bad  any  time  just  after  eatin',  go 
right  to  the  clerk  and  ask  for  an  emetic;  don't  do  no 
loafin'  about  i't,  either — pizen  sometimes  gets  into  coffee." 

Forkey  climbed  that  night  to  his  bunk  with  the  praise- 
worthy resolution  to  lay  awake  all  night,  and,  with  eyes 
apparently  closed,  to  watch  every  motion  of  the  original 
occupant  of  the  opposite  bunk.  This  resolve  formed  a 
magnificent  stone  in  the  pavement  of  a  certain  danger- 
ous but  highly  popular  pathway,  famed  in  proverb  as 
paved  with  such  material,  for  while  in  the  midst  of  a 


16  The  Jericho  Road ; 

subtle  mental  device  for  overcoming  the  Parson,  Forkey 
fell  into  a  peaceful  slumber.  "Waking  suddenly  in  the 
middle  of  the  night — from  a  dream  in  which  the  Parson 
was  with  one  hand  seductively  offering  Slim  a  cup  of 
poison,  while  with  the  other  he  was  rifling  Slim's  pock- 
ets— Forkey  sprang  suddenly  up  and  looked  toward  the 
opposite  bunk.  To  his  great  surprise  he  saw,  by  the 
dim  light  of  the  single  lantern  which  hung  in  the  ward, 
the  Parson,  who  was  always  grumbling  about  the  cold 
drafts  which  swept  through  the  boiler  deck  at  night, 
folding  his  blanket  double  and  piling  it  over  his  bunk- 
mate,  after  which  operation  the  Parson  stretched  himself 
in  his  bunk  with  no  covering  whatever.  Forkey  lay 
awake  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  determined  to 
be  ready  to  give  the  Parson  the  lie  the  moment  that  gen- 
tleman awoke,  and  accused  Slim  of  appropriating  his 
bed-clothing.  The  couple  arose  without  quarreling, 
however,  and  the  Parson  was  as  kind  to  the  green  hand 
as  if  he  had  himself  slept  under  downy  coverlets  through- 
out the  night. 

Forkey  pondered  over  the  matter  without  reaching  a 
satisfactory  conclusion  as  to  the  Parson's  motive.  He 
consulted  Mr.  Baker,  but  that  gentleman,  evtu  uiu-r 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  17 

stimulating  his  intellect  in  the  manner  peculiar  to  roust- 
abouts, was  unable  to  offer  any  theory  in  elucidation. 
In  fact,  when  to  have  undisturbed  opportunity  for  reflec- 
tion, Mr.  Baker  climbed  to  the  top  of  a  pile  of  cotton 
on  the  after-deck,  he  himself  received  a  revelation  com- 
pared with  which  Forkey's  was  insignificant.  He  was 
lying  on  his  stomach,  as  is  the  (mstom  of  the  meditative 
roustabout,  and  his  eyes  naturally  fell  upon  the  narrow 
runway  which  had  been  left  between  the  cotton  and  the 
side  of  the  boat.  Suddenly  the  unhandsome  form  of 
the  Parson  appeared,  and,  after  dropping  a  roll  of  bills, 
quickly  vanished.  The  startled  observer  sprang  to  his 
feet,  ran  softly  along  the  cotton-heap,  and  reached  the 
end  of  it  just  in  time  to  hear  the  Parson  say  to  Slim  : 

v  «/ 

"  "Wouldn't  ye  like  to  have  yer  name  tattooed  on  ter 
yer  arm,  so  if  ye  got  lost  overboard,  or  got  hurt  ashore, 
folks  'd  know  where  ye  b'longed  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  youth. 

"  Go  'round  behind  the  cotton,  then,"  said  the  Parson, 
"  and  I'll  get  my  things  an'  come  an'  do  the  bizness." 

Mr.  Baker,  swearing  eloquently  to  himself,  returned  to 
his  original  resting-place  in  time  to  see  Slim  start  at  the 
sight  of  the  roll,  and  quickly  pick  it  up.  At  one 


18  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

and  the  same  instant,  the  observer  rose  to  his  feet  and 
the  Parson  appeared,  saw  the  money,  and  exclaimed  : 

"Hello!  found  something " 

"Yes,"  drawled  Slim,  his  eyes  opening  widely;  "I 
wonder  who  lost  it? " 

"Don't  trouble  your  head  about  that,"  roughly  ex- 
claimed the  Parson.  "  If  it's  anybody  aboard  he'll  growl 
about  it  soon  enough.  Jest  keep  yer  mouth  tight  shet 
about  it — that's  all  you've  got  to  do.  Then,  if  nobody 
claims  it,  you  can  send  it  home  from  Cairo  or  Shawnee- 
town.  'Twould  come  in  handy  to  your  folks ; — let's  see — 
there's  ten,  twenty,  thirty,  forty,  fifty  dollars;  bully! 
You  can  get  eastern  bills  fur  it  fur  about  a  dollar  extra, 
an' jest  think  how  yer  mother's  e}^es  '11  stick  out — eh?" 

The  tattooing  operation  began,  and  Mr.  Baker,  doubt- 
ing the  accuracy  of  his  own  senses,  speedily  drank  them 
into  a  condition  of  utter  quiescence. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  19 


CHAPTEE    II. 

IN   WHICH  THE  HEKO  FINDS  AND  LOSES   ONE  OF  HIS  EARLIEST 
ACQUAINTANCES. 

DAY  by  day  the  little  "Helen  Douglas"  gallantly 
struggled  up  the  great  river,  and  day  by  day  the  mystery 
of  the  after-deck  grew  more  absorbing.  The  roustabouts 
discussed  in  earnest  undertones  a  subject  which  was 
always  dropped  when  the  Parson  came  within  earshot. 
So  absorbed  was  Mr.  Forkey  in  contemplation,  that  on 
one  occasion,  while  wooding  up,  and  struck  forcibly  by  a 
new  theory,  he  with  a  shoulder  full  of  wood,  stepped  to 
the  other  gang-plank  mi  which  Mr.  Baker  was  descend- 
ing; the  shock  of  the  collision  carried  the  wood  and  the 
two  gentlemen  into  the  water  floundering,  in  which 
element  Forkey  unburdened  his  soul  to  his  very  profane 
companion.  The  excitement  extended  to  the  firemen, 
and  from  them  to  the  engineers;  in  the  natural  course  of 
progression  it  reached  the  mates,  the  pilot,  and  the  clerk; 
finally  it  was  noticed  that  the  captain  himself,  whenever 


20  The  Jericho  Road ; 

the  roustabouts  were  busy  forward,  stared  curiously  at 
the  Parson  and  his  pet. 

The  Wabash  river  was  finally  reached,  and  found  to  be 
more  than  bank- full;  the  boat  might  have  sailed  safely 
over  the  bottom-lands  wherever  the  timber  was  cut  away. 
A  wicked  thought  struck  Captain  Bates  and  made  him 
gleeful ;  he  hurried  up  to  the  pilot-house. 

"  Ben,"  said  he  to  the  pilot  on  duty,  "  the  river  is  way 

up." 

"Rather,"  said  the  pilot,  as  he  put  the  boat's  head 
toward  the  western  shore  to  avoid  the  current  of  a  swollen 
creek  coming  in  on  the  other  side. 

"  Don't  you  b'leeve  she  could  run  the  dam  at  Mount 
Zion,  and  dodge  paying  lock-charges?"  asked  the  Cap- 
tain, offering  the  freedom  of  his  tobacco-plug  to  the 
pilot. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  replied  the  pilot,  after  scanning 
closely  the  trees  on  both  banks  of  the  river. 

"'Twould  have  to  be  done  by  daylight,  wouldn't  it?" 
asked  the  Captain;  "  It's  hardly  a  safe  risk  to  try  it  after 
dark." 

"Not  any"  said  the  pilot,  with  considerable  empha- 
sis. "  If  there's  ever  a  time  when  a  man  wants  to  see 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  21 

the  water  in  front  of  him,  it's  when  he's  runnin'  a  dam. 
We  won't  get  to  Mount  Zion  till  about  midnight,  an' 
there's  no  moon." 

"Whose  watch  '11  it  be  first  thing  in  the  morning?" 
asked  the  Captain. 

"  Mine,"  said  the  pilot. 

"  I'll  give  you  an  extra  twenty  to  do  it,  Ben,"  said  the 
Captain. 

"  Done! "  said  the  pilot. 

"Hooray!"  shouted  Captain  Bates,  spinning  on  his 
heel  and  rubbing  his  hands  joyously.  "  We'll  tie  up  at 
Mount  Zion  and  keep  up  an  infernal  whistlin'  all  night 
so  the  lock-keeper'll  be  afraid  to  go  to  bed;  then  in  the 
morning  we'll  shoot  right  along  under  his  nose.  Great 
Caesar!  won't  he  jump  and  swear?" 

The  pilot  showed  his  teeth  in  grim  approval  of  the 
Captain's  wicked  mirth. 

From  midnight  until  daybreak  the  gentle  Helen  lay  at 
Mount  Zion,  shrieking  and  howling  through  her  whistles 
in  a  manner  which  tormented  the  inhabitants  of  the 
town  as  badly  as  they  did  the  lock-keeper.  Toward  day- 
break, however,  both  engineers  came  on  duty,  all  the 
roustabouts  were  awakened,  both  mates  and  the  Captain 


22  The  Jericho  fioad  ; 

were  on  deck,  and  the  two  pilots  lounged  over  the  wheel. 
As  soon  as  it  became  fairly  light  the  lines  were  cast  off, 
and  the  gallant  little  boat  started  on  her  daring  trip. 
Several  miles  up  the  stream  the  locality  of  the  dam  was 
indicated  by  a  great  white  mill  on  one  side  of  the  stream, 
and  the  lock  on  the  other.  As  the  boat  moved  slowly 
against  the  rapid  current  and  decreased  distance,  a  dark, 
troubled  line  extending  across  the  mill  showed  that, 
despite  the  depth  of  water  on  the  dam,  there  was  yet  a 
perceptible  fall ;  the  same  fact  was  also  indicated  by  a 
steady,  sullen  roar. 

"All  forward!"  shouted  the  Captain.  "Got  to  keep 
her  head  down  all  we  can,  and  there's  no  freight  to  do  it 
with.  Everybody  forward — cooks,  greasers,  everybody!" 

The  roustabouts  crowded  to  the  jackstaff. 

"Looks  nasty,  Ben,"  suggested  the  pilot  off  duty  to 
his  associate. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  sententious  Benjamin. 

"  Must  be  a  fall  of  nigh  onto  three  feet — don't  you 
think  it's  dangerous?"  continued  the  other  pilot. 

"Nary  time,"  replied  Ben,  with  a  face  sufficiently 
white  to  give  his  words  the  lie.  "There's  nolliin'  to  do 
but  get  her  head  straight  and  hold  her  to  it.  We'll  <j.\> 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  23 

across  as  easy  as  fallin'  off  a  log.  It's  time  to  give  me 
a  hand,  now." 

"  Trim  boat! "  shouted  Captain  Bates.  The  two  mates 
carefully  disposed  the  men  and  the  coils  of  rope  forward, 
until  the  captain  shouted  : 

"There!  she  sits  like  a  duck! " 

By  this  time  the  dam  was  but  a  hundred  yards  in 
front,  and  though  it  was  only  a  wall  of  water  about  two 
feet  in  height,  most  of  the  roustabouts  forward  looked  as 
if  they  would  rather  be  somewhere  else,  if  possible,  while 
the  colored  cook  and  waiters  seemed  to  grow  ashy  in 
visage. 

A  moment  more,  and  the  boat  was  within  twenty- 
five  yards  of  the  black,  roaring  wall. 

"Now— hold  her  to  it!"  growled  Ben,  between  his 
teeth. 

"  Steady! "  shouted  the  Captain. 

The  boat  staggered  up — she  seemed  barely  to  creep — 
she  trembled  so  violently  that  her  bell  rang.  Suddenly 
her  head  sheered  the  least  bit  from  her  proper  course, 
which  lay  at  an  exact  right  angle  with  the  line  of  the  dam. 
The  effect  was  seemingly  out  of  proportion  with  the 
cause;  instead  of  the  water  being  divided  by  the  prow, 


24  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

and  following  the  ordinary  water-line  of  the  hull,  it  struck 
the  hull  "  quartering,"  turned  the  boat's  head  still  more, 
burst  over  the  low  guards  peculiar  to  Western  steamboats, 
rushed  with  terrific  force  along  the  main  deck,  snapped 
the  slight  supports  of  the  cabin,  and  caused  the  boat  to 
careen  violently;  in  an  instant  the  entire  upper  works 
were  carried  away  as  if  they  were  a  mere  box,  while  the 
hull,  with  the  engine  still  working,  drifted  down  the 
river.* 

Strangely  enough,  no  one  seemed  hurt.  The  Captain 
and  officers  (there  were  no  passengers)  were  seen 
walking  about  on  the  convenient  raft  which  the  upper 
works  afforded;  while  the  crew,  having  all  been  forward, 
had  been  out  of  the  reach  of  the  water,  and  apparently  of 
falling  timber.  When  the  frightened  men  recovered 
their  wits,  however,  they  noticed  that  the  Parson  was 
doubled  up  near  the  capstan,  and  showed  no  disposition 
to  rise.  Mr.  Baker  stooped,  looked  carefully  into  his  face, 
looked  up,  and  remarked: 

*Lest  any  one  not  acquainted  with  Western  steamboat  architec- 
ture should  doubt  the  probability  of  this  incident,  I  would  say  that 
I  believe  it  follows  in  all  particulars  the  story  of  the  loss  of  the  //  n 
Mar,  in  the  Wabash  river,  twenty  years  ago.  Ohio  river  pilots 
remember  the  case  and  its  peculiarities. 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  25 

"He's  goin'  to  kingdom  come,  boys!  " 

"Where's  that?"  asked  Slim,  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"Into  his  coffin,  young  man;  if  we  ever  get  ashore  to 
buy  one,"  said  Mr.  Baker,  very  solemnly. 

The  green  hand  was  on  his  knees  beside  the  Parson  in 
a  moment. 

"You've  been  mighty  kind  to  me,"  said  he,  while  a 
couple  of  big  tears  streamed  down  his  dirty  face. 

"Think  so,  boy?"  whispered  the  dying  man,  smiling 
feebly. 

"Yes,"  said  Slim.  "Everybody  else  has  giv  me 
advice  till  I've  been  'most  crazy;  but  you've  been  a  real 
friend — but  I  can't  guess  why." 

"I'll  tell  ye,"  gasped  the  dying  man,  pulling  at  Slim's 
hand  as  if  he  would  draw  him  closer.  Forkey  bent  his 
head  as  low  as  he  dared  without  seeming  to  listen,  while 
Mr.  Baker  hypocritically  pretended  to  examine  the  Par- 
son's pulse;  "  cos — I'm — YOUR  FATIIEK!  " 

The  Parson's  eyes  closed,  and  a  smile  which  a  dying 
Christian  might  have  envied  came  into  his  face.  The 
orphan,  man  as  he  was,  commenced  to  cry  audibly,  at 

which  Mr.  Baker  soothingly  said,  "  Sh h,"  patted  the 

2 


26  The  Jericho  Road ; 

youth  on  the  back,  and  then  walked  abruptly  aft,  with 
his  knuckles  in  his  own  eyes. 

The  hull  stranded  on  an  island  just  below  Mount  Zion, 
and  it  was  proposed  that  the  Parson  should  be  interred 
there.  Mr.  Baker,  however,  who  seemed  to  have  assumed 
charge  of  the  deceased  roustabout,  declared  that  he  should 
have  a  handsome  coffin  and  be  buried  in  a  regular  grave- 
yard, with  a  genuine  parson  to  say  the  word,  and  Mr. 
Baker  had  his  way.  He  was  rather  disappointed  when 
he  learned  that  a  fife  and  drum,  to  perform  a  dead  march, 
would  hardly  be  in  order  in  a  funeral  procession,  and  that 
the  only  Mount  Zionite  capable  of  engraving  coffin-plates 
had  conscientious  scruples  against  engraving  either  "The 
Parson,"  or  "  Slim's  Dad,"  in  lieu  of  a  real  name.  The 
real  name,  however,  was  obtained  from  the  orphan,  and 
all  obstacles  to  what  Mr.  Baker  called  a  "reg'lar  bury  in" 
were  overcome.  The  procession  was  in  appearance  one 
that  Mount  Zion  had  never  seen  the  like  of  before;  and 
Mr.  Baker  and  the  orphan,  walking  directly  behind  tho 
minister,  attracted  unusual  attention.  "When  the  first 
shovelfull  of  dirt  fell  upon  the  coffin-box,  with  a  1ml low, 
sepulchral  sound,  poor  Slim  uttered  a  pitiful  cry  and  foil 
on  his  knees,  and  all  his  companions  trembled  and  turm-d 
their  faces  av 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  27 


CHAPTEK    III. 

DELINEATING  A  CERTAIN  POPULAR  IMPRESSION   CONCERNING 
THE    NATURE    OF    HUMAN    SYMPATHY. 

AMONG  the  natives  wlio  were  drawn  to  the  cemetery  by 
the  unusual  appearance  of  the  funeral  procession,  was  old 
Squire  Barkum.  The  sentiments  under  whose  influence 
the  Squire,  who  was  the  richest  man  in  the  town,  had 
left  his  store  in  charge  of  a  small  boy  and  followed  the 
multitude,  were  several.  He  was  not  devoid  of  curiosity, 
and  excitants  of  that  quality  were  so  infrequent  at  Mount 
Zion  that  the  Squire  felt  moved  by  ordinary  prudence  to 
make  the  most  of  every  one  which  presented  itself.  Then 
the  Squire  was  always  willing  to  pray  or  speak  at 
informal  gatherings  of  a  semi-religious  nature,  and  he  did 
not  know  but  there  might  be  some  call  for  such  service  at 
the  grave.  Lastly,  the  Squire  was  human,  and  the  Squire 
was  shrewd;  he  knew  that  roustabouts  sometimes  had 
money,  and  that  they  freely  spent  it  when  asked  to  do  so ; 
he  knew  of  the  disaster  to  the  boat,  and  imagined  that  the 


28  The  Jericho  Road; 

men  might  have  unusual  need  to  replace  lost  personal 
property,  and  that  his  shelves  would  be  the  proper  place 
from  which  to  obtain  the  necessary  articles.  How  to 
bestow  a  judicious  word  or  two,  not  too  cheerful  for  the 
occasion,  and  yet  not  at  all  doleful,  the  Squire  very  well 
knew;  and  he  did  not  doubt  that  by  so  doing  a  few  of 
the  roustabouts  might  be  persuaded  to  stop  into  his  store 
on  their  way  back  to  the  river. 

The  Squire  was  doomed  to  disappointment,  however; 
the  sobs  of  the  orphan  were  more  than  his  companions 
could  hear  unmoved;  so  Mr.  Baker,  first  tiptoeing  up  to 
the  mourner  and  whispering,  "  Come  down  to  the  wreck 
when  you  feel  like  it,"  rejoined  his  comrades,  remarked 
"  All  aboard ! "  and  led  the  party  rapidly  and  en  masse 
back  to  the  river.  Most  of  the  native  spectators  followed 
the  retiring  roustabouts,  moved  by  the  motive  which 
brought  them  to  the  cemetery ;  those  who  had  come  from 
neighboring  houses  dropped  away,  until  at  last  only  the 
Squire  and  the  mourner  remained.  There  are  some 
natures  in  which  the  religious  sentiments  are  excited 
by  trouble  or  disappointment  of  any  sort,  and  the  Squire's 
was  one  of  them.  He  approached  the  kiuvling  boy,  a 
step  at  a  time,  as  if  he  did  it  unconsciously,  and  when  at 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  29 

last  Slim  arose  and  turned  himself  about)  lie  found  the 
Squire  immediately  in  front  of  him. 

"  You  seem  to  have  met  with  a  pretty  serious  loss," 
remarked  the  Squire.  "Was  he  your  brother? — there's 
a  friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a " 

"  He  was  my  father,"  interrupted  Slim,  again  begin- 
ning to  cry. 

"Father,  eh?"  exclaimed  the  Squire.  "Well,  that 
is  bad— it  must  be  very  sorrowful.  But  there  is  one 
comfort — <  Like  as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the 
Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear  him.'  Are  you  a  believer?" 

"  A  what  ? "  asked  the  boy. 

"Are  you  a  member  of  the  church?"  said  the  Squire, 
translating  his  question  into  the  vernacular. 

"ISTo,"  replied  the  mourner,  wiping  his  eyes  with  his 
coat  sleeve,  "  I  aint  seen  much  of  churches,  an'  I  don't 
know  much  about  religion." 

"  It's  a  great  pity,"  said  the  Squire,  "  for  besides  bein' 
for  your  everlastin'  welfare,  'twould  be  a  mighty  comfort 
to  you  now.  Was  your  father  a  perfessor?" 

"A  what?"  asked  Slim. 

"A  religious  person,"  answered  the  Squire. 

"  I  reckon  not,"  said  Slim,  after  a  moment's   hesita- 


30  The  Jericho  Road ; 

tion,  during  which  he  looked  far  away  at  nothing  in 
particular,  "  but  he  was  good.  You  needn't  shake  your 
head — don't  1  know?  The  good  things  that  he's  done 
for  me  since  I — since  we've  been  together,  are  more'ii 
I  can  tell.  An'  I  would  have  been  so  happy  if  I'd 
knowed — knowed  all  about  it,"  and  again  the  poor 
orphan  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  hope  his  good  deeds  '11  be  imputed  unto  him  for 
righteousness,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  I  wished  he'd  have  stayed  alive,  an'  gone  on  a  doin' 
of  'em,"  said  the  orphan.  "  "We  might  hev  tuk  care  of 
the  mother  an'  the  children  so  well,  now  we  was  together 
an'  knew  all  about  everything,  an'  had  work  to  do.  But 
now  he's  gone,  an'  I've  got  nothin'  to  do  again,  an'  I 
ain't  strong  or  good  for  much,  an'  the. mother  ain't  very 
well,  an'  the  other  children  ain't  big  enough  to  keep  her 
much — I  wish  somethin'  would  kill  all  of  us,  too!" 

The  Squire  at  once  put  on  a  judicial  air.  "  Don't  fly 
in  the  face  of  Providence,  young  man,"  said  lie.  "  God 
is  very  merciful;  he  might  injustice  have  cut  you  down 
for  such  a  blasphemous  wish." 

"Sposiif  IK-  had,"  ezdaimed  Slim,  "wouldn't  I  IK-V  IH-CII 
better  off?  What's  the  use  of  liviif  when  you  can't  be 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  31 

any  use  to  anybody  ?  Ef  you  was  nearly  a  thousan'  mile 
from  where  yon  was  raised,  an'  was  all  to  pieces  from 
chills  an'  fever,  an'  worry,  an'  not  havin'  had  enough  to 
eat,  an'  there  was  somebody  you  loved  needed  lots  done 
for  'em,  an'  there  .was  nobody  but  you  to  do  it,  how 
would  you  feel?" 

The  Squire  did  not  answer  directly,  for  the  simple  rea- 
son that  he  could  not  imagine  himself  in  the  physical 
condition  alluded  to,  and  because,  also,  the  desire  to  be 
practically  useful  to  any  one  besides  himself  was  one 
which  he  had  never  experienced  except  in  the  most  timid 
and  conservative  manner.  Now,  however,  as  he  looked 
upon  the  despondent  face  before  him — a  face  none  the 
less  touching  because  it  was  so  unhandsome  and  feeble — 
he  experienced  a  genuine  desire  to  help  the  orphan  to 
accomplish  the  one  purpose  of  his  life. 

"  I'd  feel  real  bad,"  said  the  Squire,  "  and  I'm  mighty 
sorry  for  you.  And  I'll  help  you — that  is," — for  the 
Squire,  frightened  at  the  sound  of  so  unfamiliar  a  state- 
ment coming  from  his  own  lips,  was  already  anxious  to 
modify  the  strength  of  his  expression — "  that  is,  I'll  try 
to  help  you  if  you  seem  to  be  worthy  of  it — if  you  show 
that  you  really  deserve  it.  What's  your  name  ?" 


32  The  Jericho  Road ; 

"Lemuel  Pankett,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  change  of 
countenance  that  was  almost  happy. 

"  How  old  are  you?" 

"  Nineteen." 

"  Hum — you're  small  for  your  age,"  said  the  Squire, 
"  an'  you  don't  look  as  if  you  could  do  much." 

"  Give  me  somethin'  to  try  my  hand  at,"  exclaimed 
the  boy,  with  such  energy  that  the  Squire  unconsciously 
stepped  backward  arid  fell  over  the  grave  of  one  of  the 
forefathers  of  the  hamlet.  "I  know  I  ain't  big  an' 
strong,  but  I'll  stick  to  a  job  forever." 

"  That's — the  way — I — like — to  hear  a  man — talk," 
said  the  Squire,  fragmentarily,  as  he  regained  a  vertical 
position. 

"Can  you  take  care  of  horses?" 

"Yes." 

"Make  garden?" 

"  Yes — I  always  took  care  of  mother's." 

"Milk  cows?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Mow,  an'  make  hay?" 

"  Yes,  hay  was  the  main  crop  where  I  come  from." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  33 

"I  guess  you  can't  cut  wood?"  interrogated  the 
Squire. 

"  I  can,  though,"  replied  Pankett.  "  I  can't  do  it  as 
fast  as  some,  but  then,  again,  I  can  do  it  faster  than 
others." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Squire,  « I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I'll  give  you  your  board  an'  lodgin'  for  a  week,  say,  till 
I  see  what  you  can  do;  then,  if  you  suit  me,  I  guess  we 
can  come  to  terms  about  pay." 

The  boy  grasped  the  Squire's  hand,  and  looked  grate- 
fully into  his  face,  but  the  good  man  exclaimed  rather 
impatiently: 

"  Never  mind  about  that— you  do  your  best,  and  I'll 
be  your  friend." 

Whether  from  fear  that  the  roustabouts  would,  missing 
their  companion  for  too  long  a  time,  come  back  to  search 
for  him,  or  whether  he  wished  to  hide  his  own  good  deeds 
from  his  fellow  merchants,  the  Squire  took  his  new 
acquaintance  home  by  a  circuitous  and  almost  secluded 
route.  Then,  while  hungry,  sorrowful,  friendless  Lem- 
uel Pankett  was  dining  in  the  Squire's  kitchen,  his  bene- 
factor and  that  good  man's  wife  conversed  together  in  an 
adjacent  room. 


34  The  Jericho  Road ; 

"  What  you  wanted  to  bring  home  such  a  shadder  for, 
/  can't  see,"  said  the  lady. 

"  It  is  our  duty  to  help  the  fatherless  in  their  'fflic- 
tion,  the  good  book  says,  Marg'ret,"  the  Squire  replied. 

"  It  says  c  visit '  'em,  not  help  'em,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Barkum. 

"  Well,  he  can  milk  a  cow,"  said  the  Squire.  Then, 
as  his  wife  looked  critically  through  a  crack  of  a  door  at 
Lemuel,  the  Squire  continued,  "  and  he  can  make  garden, 
an'  mow  the  medder,  an'  cut  wood." 

"  What  have  you  got  to  pay  him  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Barkum. 

"  Nothin',"  replied  the  Squire,  "  that  is,  nothin'  for  a 
week.  An'  I  won't  have  to  pay  him  much  after  that — 
he  hasn't  had  much  work  to  do  for  a  long  time,  an  he'll 
jump  at  anything." 

"That's  better 'n  I  'xpected,"  remarked  Mrs.  Barkum. 

"What  makes  you  say  that,  Marg'ret?"  asked  the 
Squire,  with  more  asperity  in  his  tone  than  became  a 
model  husband.  "Do  I  generally  make  bad  bargains?" 

"  ]N"o,  Squire,  you  don't  —I  will  say  that  you're  the 
best  trader  in  the  county.  But  what  could  I  think 
when  you  bring  a  fellow  home  with  that  appetite  in  the 
middle  of  the  morning?  An'  then  for  you  to  go  to  mis- 
quotin'  bible  about  it,  too!  " 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  35 

"Well,  Marg'ret,  tfwas  a  kind  tiling  to  do,  now — 
that's  as  sure's  you're  alive.  An'  we'll  get  our  reward 
for  it.  I  meant  to  do  him  a  kindness  when  I  fust  spoke 
to  him,  an'  f  jr  a  minute  I  didn't  think  about  gettiii'  any- 
thing back.  But  you  see  t'was  perfectly  safe." 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Barkum.  "  <  Cast  thy  bread 
upon  the  waters,  an'  after  many  days  it'll  return  to  you 
again.'  It's  a  powerful  sight  of  bread,  though — he's  a 
eatin'  yet." 

The  Squire  looked  through  the  crack  himself,  and  re- 
marked: "  "Well,  he  can't  be  expected  to  go  on  like  that 
always.  Besides,  I'll  set  him  to  work  right  after  he  gets 
through — the  potatoes  need  hoein'  the  very  worst  way. 
But  say,  Marg'ret,  dorft  it  make  one  feel  good  to  do  a 
kind  action  to  a  fellow  crittur?" 

"  Yes,  Aaron,  it  does,"  responded  Mrs.  Barkum,  "  spe- 
cially when  you  don't  have  to  be  afraid  that  mebbe 
twon't  come  out  right  after  all,  as  you  do  when  you  give 
a  dollar  to  the  Missionary  Society  or  the  Bible  Society. 
"Why  can't  he  shake  the  carpets?  That's  a  job  that's 
been  waitin,to  be  done  these  three  months." 

"  Of  course  he  can  do  it,"  said  the  Squire;  "  we  must 
both  see  to  it  that  he  ain't  ever  idle.  I'd  feel  awful  if  I 


36  The  Jericho  Road ; 

thought  I'd  ever  encourage  anybody  to  waste  precious 
time.  There's  one  thing  I  meant  to  tell  you,  though;  ho 
ain't  a  believer — we  must  have  him  in  at  prayers,  mornin' 
an'  night." 

Mrs.  Barkum  reflected  *a  moment.  "  I  don't  see  how 
he  can  do  that  very  well,"  said  she ;  "  it'll  break  right  in- 
to whatever  he's  doin'  half  the  time,  an  that  ain't  right. 
Besides,  I  don't  know  'bout  throwin'  away  prayers  on 
them  that  don't  care  for  'em.  Nobody  can  come  to  God 
unless  the  Sperrit  draws  'em — 'pears  to  me  'twould  be 
takin'  the  Lord's  bizness  out  of  His  own  hands." 

"  I  don't  know  but  you're  right  there,  Marg'ret,"  said 
the  Squire.  "  There,  now,  he's  done — I'll  set  him  at  the 
potatoes  at  once.  It's  a  wicked  world,  though;  like  as 
not  just  as  we  get  him  just  as  we  want  him,  somebody  '11 
come  along  an'  offer  him  bigger  pay." 

"Well,  we  can  only  hope  for  the  best,  an'  have  faith 
in  the  promises,"  sighed  Mrs.  Barkum.  "There— just 
as  I  expected — he's  helpiii'  himself  to  more  bread  and 
butter.  I  wish  you'd  gone  when  you  said  you  would, 
an'  put  him  to  work." 

"Another  slice  of  bread  ain't  much,  with  flour  only 
,iT  ;i  half  cents  a  pound,"  ivj>li<-«l  the  S<|uiiv,  start- 


A  Story  of    Western  Life.  37 

ing  for  the  door.  "  I'm  so  happy  over  an  opportunity 
for  doin'  good,  that  I  don't  grudge  him  the  slice — t'wont 
take  him  more  than  five  minutes  to  eat  it.  Folks  won't 
think  we're  stingy  now,  Marg'ret,  will  they?  I  don't 
know  anybody  in  town  that  ever  done  so  much  for  a  man 
before.  We  must  be  humble  about  it,  though." 


38  The  Jericho  Road; 


CHAPTEK    IY. 

IN  WHICH   THE   HERO    IS    PUNISHED   FOR   APPRECIATING   THE 
MERITS   OF   HIS   BEST   FRIEND. 

DURING  the  month  which  followed  the  conversation 
recorded  in  the  preceding  chapter,  the  good  Squire  and 
his  wife  succeeded  in  so  allotting  the  time  of  their 
dependant  that  they  had  not  the  slightest  cause  to  fear 
that  they  would  encourage  him  in  habits  of  idleness. 
Lemuel  arose  at  five,  made  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove,  put 
the  kettle  on  the  fire,  fed  the  pigs  and  chickens,  brought 
in  fire- wood  and  milked  the  cow;  then,  while  the  Squire 
and  his  wife  ate  their  breakfast,  he  hurried  to  the  Squire's 
store  and  took  down  the  shutters — a  task  to  which  the 
small  boy,  who  was  the  Squire's  only  clerk,  was  not 
equal.  Then  he  ate  his  breakfast,  generally  after  receiv- 
ing the  information  that  Mrs.  Barkum  was  in  a  great 
hurry  to  have  some  potatoes  dug,  a  chicken  killed  and 
picked,  or  some,  errand  performed.  After  breakfast  he 
chopped  wood  with  considerable  haste,  knowing  that  the 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  39 

Squire  expected  his  assistance  at  the  store.  Reaching 
the  store,  he  received,  weighed  and  stored  in  the  ware- 
house such  heavy  or  bulky  articles — corn,  wheat,  oats, 
feathers,  beans,  hams,  etc., — which  country  customers 
paid  in  trade  for  goods;  mixed  in  a  mighty  mortar,  with 
a  pestle,  the  various  qualities  of  butter  which  came  from, 
the  same  sort  of  customers;  weighed  nails  and  other  arti- 
cles unpleasant  to  handle;  measured  tar;  caught  from  a 
teamster  the  bricks  which  were  being  delivered  to  build 
an  extension  to  the  store;  mixed  molasses-settlings  with 
brown  sugar,  to  give  weight  to  the  latter;  and  when 
there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  white-washed  the  sheds, 
chopped  wood  to  satisfy  the  winter  demand  of  the  stoves 
in  the  store,  and  dug  at  the  cellar  for  the  proposed  addi- 
tion. In  the  afternoon  his  duties  were  changed  only  as 
to  their  order;  the  closing  hour  of  daylight  was  devoted 
again  to  the  pigs,  the  cow,  and  the  domestic  wood-pile, 
after  which  he  again  went  to  the  store  and  polished  rusty 
hardware  in  the  back  room  until  the  Squire  thought  it 
too  late  for  another  customer  to  come  in ;  then  Lemuel 
put  up  the  shutters,  carried  home  the  account-books  of 
the  store  (for  fire-proof  safes  were  unknown  at  Mount 
Zion),  and  went  to  bed.  He  never  showed  any  indica- 


40  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

tions  of  a  desire  to  avoid  work,  and  the  good  Squire  and 
his  wife  seconded  his  industrious  endeavors  by  always 
providing  in  advance  enough  work  to  make  it  impossible 
that  he  should  be  temporarily  idle. 

It  quite  naturally  followed  that  Lemuel  hailed  the 
approach  of  the  Sabbath  with  a  gladness  which  would 
have  been  creditable  to  the  most  sincere  Christian,  and 
that  such  time  as  he  did  not  spend  at  church  (about 
attendance  at  which  the  Squire  was  persistent),  was 
passed  in  a  recumbent  position  in  the  hay-loft  of  the 
Squire's  barn.  Friends  he  somehow  failed  to  make;  he 
was  neither  handsome,  rich,  accomplished,  nor  eloquent- 
ly vulgar,  so  no  one  courted  his  society ;  he  was  destitute 
also  of  that  useful  social  quality  known  as  "push."  So 
his  spare  time  was  usually  spent  in  solitude.  Even  then, 
however,  he  was  conscious  of  a  longing  that  Sunday 
might  come  at  least  twice  a  week — perhaps  oftener.  lie 
grew  thinner  and  more  hollow-eyed  than  he  was  whrn 
he  came  to  the  Squire,  and  contracted  a  stooping  posture 
when  standing  or  walking.  The  chills,  which  he,  like 
every  one  else  at  Mount  Zion,  had  with  unpleasant  fiv- 
<|iic;icv,  did  not  m:iko  it  any  easier  for  him  to  meet  Ilio 
v  dun. tiids  which  \vriv  ma-Iij  UJH-II  hi.  Strength. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  41 

But  the  thought  of  the  eight  dollars  which  the  Squire 
had  agreed  to  pay  him  monthly,  and  which  was  to  be  of 
so  much  use  to  the  little  family  of  which  he  was  the  head, 
kept  him  steadily  at  work. 

The  Squire  never  ceased  to  congratulate  himself  on 
the  steadiness  and  cheapness  of  his  new  assistant,  and 
upon  the  truly  Christian  sentiment  to  the  exercise  of 
which  he  attributed  the  improved  condition  of  the  young 
man.  When  speaking  to  his  wife  of  the  profit  which 
accrued  from  Lemuel's  services,  the  Squire  occasionally 
interjected  a  sentence  which  was  religious  in  form  and 
self-laudatory  in  spirit;  when  he  talked  with  others, 
however,  he  made  mention  only  of  the  religious  and 
charitable  feelings  with  which  he  regarded  Lemuel. 

"  I  hate  to  see  a  feller-bein'  suffer,"  the  Squire  would 
remark.  "  It  would  be  easy  enough  to  have  given  the 
poor  chap  a  dollar,  an'  made  it  all  right  with  your  con- 
science. But  what- s  a  dollar  to  a  poor  helpless  feller 
like  that?  Like  enough  he'd  have  spent  it  for  whisky, 
an'  treated  that  whole  crowd.  What  he  needed  wras  a 
home,  and  to  be  took  out  of  bad  company  an'  be  taught 
to  work,  and  have  good  influences  around  him.  It 
mayn't  all  show  out  on  him  at  once  what  I'm  tryin'  to 


42  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

do  for  him,  but  it'll  tell.  It  costs  money  to  keep  a  man 
like  that,  an'  pay  him  wages  too,  so  that  he  can  keep 
his  mother,  but  I'll  trust  to  the  Lord  for  my  pay — this 
isn't  the  only  world  there  is." 

Such  expressions  were  generally  received  by  the 
Squire's  auditors  with  that  respect  which  is  usually  ac- 
corded to  the  utterance  of  rich  men.  There  were  certain 
sons  of  Belial,  however,  and  not  a  few  of  the  Squire's 
religious  associates,  who  in  the  privacy  of  their  hearts 
wondered  how  much  the  Squire  would  really  have  done 
for  Pankett  if  he  had  expected  his  remuneration  only  in 
the  next  world.  Not  all  of  these  doubters  of  the  Squire's 
disinterestedness  held  their  peace;  the  village  postmaster 
and  the  Squire's  principal  business  competitor — a  pair  of 
men  who  disagreed  upon  religion,  politics,  and  public 
improvements — came  into  spirited  accord  on  the  subject 
of  the  Squire's  treatment  of  Lemuel. 

"  He's  making  money  out  of  the  boy  just  as  he  does 
out  of  everybody  else,"  said  the  postmaster;  "I  pay  my 
man  fifteen  dollars,  and  he  don't  do  more  than  half  as 
much  work,  and  yet  he's  a  good  man." 

"Yes,"  said  the  storekeeper,  gazing  sorrowfully  upon 
an  ex-customer  of  his  own,  who  was  going  into  (he 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  43 

Squire's  store,  "  he  don't  need  to  expect  anything  out  of 
the  Lord  for  that  little  job.  By  rights  he  ought  to  give 
some  benevolent  society  the  difference  between  what  he 
gives  that  poor  fellow  and  what  he  gets  ont  of  him." 

"  Societies  be  smashed  !"  exclaimed  the  postmaster, 
"  he  ought  to  pay  the  boy  what  he's  worth.  Why  don't 
you  go  tell  him  so  ?" 

"  I  would,''  said  the  merchant,  looking  a  bit  uncom- 
fortable, "but  'twould  be  just  like  him  to  pay  me  oif 
by  trying  to  coax  oif  some  of  my  customers.  "Why 
don't  you  do  it  yourself  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  the  postmaster,  starting  and  pausing  as 
if  he  heard  the  horn  of  the  approaching  mail-carrier, 
"  I  wouldn't  like  anything  better,  but  he's  got  a  little 
mortgage  on  my  house,  and  'twould  be  easy  for  him  to 
make  me  trouble  if  he  took  a  notion  to  ask  for  the  prin- 
cipal all  of  a  sudden.  But  there's  plenty  of  folks  in  this 
town  that  he  hasn't  got  any  hold  on — why  don't  they 
give  him  a  piece  of  "their  mind?" 

The  people  referred  to  were  many,  for  Mount  Zion  had 
a  thousand  or  more  inhabitants;  they  held  substantially 
the  views  of  the  postmaster  and  the  merchant,  but  the 
minds  of  most  of  them  experienced  sufficient  relief  from 


4A  The  Jericho  Road ; 

the  act  of  expressing  their  opinions  to  their  intimate 
acquaintances.  Men  who  needed  help  and  treated  their 
laborers  well,  spoke  of  the  Squire  as  a  brute,  and  of 
Lemuel  as  a  victim,  but  they  never  offered  the  victim 
the  work  which  they  had  to  pay  some  one  to  do,  and 
which  he  was  so  able  to  perform.  One  of  the  Squire's 
official  brethren  privately  informed  some  one,  who  pri- 
vately informed  the  village,  that  he  had  been  so  haunted 
by  that  poor  boy's  face,  that  he  had  wrestled  in  prayer  to 
the  Lord  for  him,  but  he  never  offered  the  Lord  any 
assistance  in  the  work  of  remedying  the  wrong  which  he 
had  so  eloquently  explained  upon  his  bended  knees.  The 
Squire's  own  pastor  was  so  moved  by  Lem's  forlorn 
condition,  that  he  made  a  special  trip  to  the  domestic 
\vood-pile  that  he  might  speak  to  the  sufferer  of  the 
Friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother,  but  he  nev,  r 
approached  his  wealthy  parishioner  with  the  words  of 
exhortation  and  rebuke  which  he  had  solemnly  covenant- 
ed to  bestow  when  necessary.  The  village  doctor  was 
firmly  of  the  opinion  that  Loin  could  not  last  long  in 
the  course  of  life  he  was  leading,  and  he  said  as  much  to 
the  Squire,  but  when  that  good  man  anxiously  askrd 
what  was  the  matter  with  his  protege,  the  doctor  turned 


A  /Story   of  Western  Life.  45 

coward  and  took  refuge  in  a  technical  explanation  of 
Lem's  condition,  which  satisfied  the  Squire  that  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  One  old  woman,  indeed,  who 
had  a  habit  of  talking  freely  to  whoever  she  met,  unbur- 
dened her  mind  so  freely  to  the  Squire,  that  he  wished 
she  would  transfer  her  custom  to  some  other  store,  and 
he  expressed  his  wish  in  vigorous  English. 

And  still  Lem  worked  hard  and  grew  steadily  weaker. 
The  only  practical  sympathy  and  assistance  he  received 
was  from  men  of  a  class  which  is  not  famous  for  improv- 
ing the  physical  and  moral  well-being  of  humanity. 
These  men  spent  considerable  time  in  the  two  or  three 
liquor  shops,  which  were  not  lacking  even  in  a  town  of  so 
excellent  a  name  as  Mount  Zion.  Most  of  the  frequenters 
of  these  shops  regarded  all  varieties  of  work  with  loath- 
ing and  horror;  they  were  not  devoid  of  sympathy;  they 
recognized  but  one  remedy  for  any  physical  or  mental 
ill,  so  they  showed  their  feeling  for  Lem  by  occasionally 
inviting  him  to  drink.  He  never  declined;  the  fiery 
draughts  which  he  swallowed  gave  him  nearly  all  the 
sense  of  strength,  comfort  and  happiness  which  he  expe- 
rienced, and  he  soon  learned  to  rely  upon  them. 

When  the  Squire  learned  that  his  man-of-all-work  was 


46  The  Jericho  Road ; 

in  the  habit  of  drinking,  he  was  filled  with  righteous 
indignation,  and  straightway  summoned  the  offender 
into  his  presence: 

"  Lemuel,"  said  he,  holding  aloft  the  yardstick  in  the 
manner  in  which  he  supposed  King  Solomon  held  his 
sceptre  when  acting  in  his  judicial  capacity,  "  I  under- 
stand you've  took  to  drink.  Don't  deny  it — Hicham 
allows  it's  so,  and  had  the  impudence  to  defend  himself 
for  sellin'  you  the  liquor,  an'  you  for  drinkin'  it.  He's 
insulted  me  as  I've  never  been  insulted  in  my  life  before. 
He  lays  all  the  blame  on  me.  Now,  was  it  to  bring  you 
up  a  drunkard  that  I  took  you  when  you  hadn't  a  friend 
in  the  world?" 

Lem  turned  pale,  his  knees  shook,  and  he  opened  his 
mouth  and  eyes  appealingly. 

"  I  see  you  own  up,"  said  the  Squire,  after  a  lofty  but 
severe  scrutiny  of  Lem's  face.  "  But  I  never  expected 
that  any  one  I'd  befriended  would  abuse  me  like  you've 
done." 

"  Why  I  liaint  said  a  word  or  done  a  thing,"  declared 
the  contrite  Lemuel.  "I " 

"  Don't  you  call  it  doin'  anything  for  a  member  of  my 
family,  as  you  are,  to  disgrace  me  an'  my  perfession  by 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  47 

goin'  into  rum-shops — the  very  gate- ways  of  hell — an' 
poisonin'  their  bodies  an'  ruinin'  their  souls  by  drinkin' 
whisky?  Of  course  folks  blame  me  for  it — they  wonder 
why  I  was  such  an  old  fool  as  to  take  up  with  anybody 
that  had  such  faults  in  'em,  an'  then  let  'em  go  on  in 
their  evil  ways." 

""Why,  Squire,"  pleaded  Lem,  "everybody  knows 
you  didn't  tell  me  to  drink;  but " 

"  But  you  just  went  an'  wasted  your  money  that  way, 
after  pretendin'  to  me  that  you  wanted  to  send  your 
mother  ev'ry  cent  you  could  raise,"  interrupted  the 
Squire.  "  Do  you  call  that  the  way  to  tell  the  truth  to  a 
man  that  wants  to  help  you  along?" 

"I  didn't  think  it  was  goin'  to  bother  you,"  said  Lem, 
"  if  I  drank  when  I  needed  to.  Its " 

"Needed  to!"  echoed  the  Squire,  with  savage  energy. 
"  Well !  I  never  thought  anybody  in  my  family  would 
say  they  needed  to  pour  whisky  down  their  throats. 
But  that  ain't  answerin'  my  question.  Is  that  the  way 
you're  goin'  to  waste  the  money  you  pretended  you 
wanted  to  send  your  mother?  " 

"  I  didnt  pretend,"  asserted  Lem ;  "  I  meant  just  what 
I  said,  an'  I  keep  a-sendin'.  I  only  take  a  drink  when  I 


48  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

need  it.  Dad  used  to  take  a  drink  sometimes  when  lie 
felt  weak;  and  he  never  got  drunk,  neither." 

The  Squire  shook  his  head,  and  seemed  to  go  into  a 
reverie.  "  Your  father  drank,  eh ?"  said  he  at  length, 
as  he  raised  his  head.  "  If  I'd  known  that  on  the  day 
that  you  buried  him,  I  wouldn't  have  done  what  I  did." 

Lem's  pale  face  flushed  and  his  bent  back  straightened. 
"  If  you've  got  anything  to  say  agin  him"  said  he,  "  you 
can  find  some  one  else  to  say  it  to — I'll  leave.  I've  done 
the  best  I  could  since  I  worked  for  you ;  an'  if  I'd  knowed 
it  would  have  bothered  you,  I'd  have  done  my  drinkin' 
on  the  sly.  But  I  won't  hear  any  man  say  a  word  agin 
my  father — I'll  thrash  him  first,  or  I'll  try  to  mighty 
hard!" 

The  Squire  understood  the  profitableness  of  discretion 
as  well  as  any  one;  and,  besides,  he  honestly  enjoyed  the 
contemplation  of  any  displays  of  virtue  which  were  unat- 
tended by  expense  to  himself.  So  he  dropped  the  yard- 
stick, assumed  a  placatory,'  confidential  air,  and  said : 

"  Don't  get  mad,  Lemuel.  I  like  to  see  a  man  stick 
up  for  his  father — it  does  you  credit.  '  Honor  thy  iUtlior 
and  thy  mother,'  says  the  good  book,  aif  f/mf  decision  is 
final.  But  your 'father  made  a  mistake — all  men  inako 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  49 

mistakes  of  some  kind — lie  made  a  mistake  when  lie 
thought  whisky  helped  him.  'At  last  it  biteth  like  a 
serpent  and  stingeth  like  an  adder,'  the  same  good  book 
says.  If  you  don't  feel  as  stout  as  you'd  like  to,  chew  a 
pinch  of  tea  or  coffee,  but  don't  take  to  liquor.  I  won't 
charge  you  anything  for  'em — unless  you'd  like  to  buy  a 
quarter  of  a  pound  of  either  an'  keep  'em  handy  in  your 
pocket,  in  case  you  want  to  use  'em.  An'  pray  for 
strength — that  kind  of  help  don't  cost  a  cent.  There — 
don't  think  any  more  about  it.  By  the  way,  I  agreed  to 
deliver  a  couple  of  barrels  of  flour  at  the  hotel  before 
three  o'clock,  an'  it's  pretty  near  that  time  now.  Be  lively 
about  it;  you'll  have  to  take  'em  on  the  wrheelbarrow,  for 
there  don't  seem  to  be  any  teams  handy.  An'  I  guess 
you  '11  have  to  get  'em  out  of  the  warehouse  yourself,  for 
I'm  all  alone  here  just  now." 
3 


50  The  Jericho  Road ; 


CHAPTEE  Y. 

IN  WHICH  CAUS^FOLLOWS  EFFECT  IN  A  MANNER   PERFECTLY 
NATURAL. 

WHEN  Squire  Barkum  repeated  to  his  helpmeet  the 
substance  of  his  conversation  with  Lem,  that  excellent 
lady  was  greatly  excited,  and  insisted  upon  the  discharge 
of  the  depraved  youth. 

"  It's  always  the  way,"  she  groaned,  hastily  swallowing 
a  cup  of  tea  to  raise  her  spirits.  "  You  take  up  these 
strange  people  an'  try  to  make  soinethin'  of  'em,  air 
you're  almost  sure  to  spile  em.'  I  know  my  father  took 
such  a  fellow  once  in  Connecticut,  an'  took  him  when  he 
was  just  a  little  boy,  too,  before  he'd  had  a  chance  to 
learn  bad  habits.  He  made  him  so  smart  that  'fore  he 
was  twelve  years  old  he  could  do  a  man's  work  at  plow  in' 
or  mowin'.  An'  what  thanks  did  he  get?  Why,  that  boy 
took  to  smokin',  an'  then  he  drank,  an'  'fore  he  was  of 
age  he  wasn't  good  for  anything!  You  ought  to  turn 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  51 

Lem  away,  Squire;  lie  won't  be  good  for  anything  if  he 
drinks." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Squire.  "  I  don't  think  'twould  be 
right  to  send  him  away  to  perish  in  his  sins.  As  long 
as  he  seems  willin'  to  try  to  do  better,  'twouldn't  be 
Christian  to  refuse  him  a  chance.  Besides,  he's  migjity 
handy — why,  Purkiss  told  me  the  other  day  that  Lem 
was  worth  two  of  his  man,  and  he  pays  fifteen  dollars  a 
month." 

Mrs.  Barkum  ate  with  unusual  rapidity  for  a  moment 
or  two,  and  then  she  remarked: 

"I  wouldn't  hold  you  back  from  what  you  think  is 
your  duty,  Squire,  but  what  I  say  is  just  this.  Don't 
let's  throw  away  our  money  on  ungrateful  folks.  When 
he  gets  to  be —  Gracious!" 

The  last  word  was  spoken  with  such  perfect  dramatic 
intonation  and  expression  that  the  Squire  dropped  his 
knife  and  fork;  he  also  dropped  his  lower  jaw  and  started 
back  in  his  chair.  Mrs.  Barkum  unconsciously  trans- 
fixed him  with  a  stare,  and  finally  exclaimed : 

«  Just  the  thing!     I've  got  it!" 

The  Squire  recovered  his  equilibrium  and  gazed  en- 
quiringly upon  his  spouse,  who  again  exclaimed: 

"  I've  got  it!" 


52  The  Jericho  Road ; 

Then  the  Squire  found  his  own  voice,  and  remarked, 
not  without  a  suspicion  of  petulance: 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  Marg'ret,  but  you  needn't  hold 
on  to  it  so  tight." 

The  lady  affected  not  to  notice  the  spirit  in  which  her 
husband's  words  were  uttered,  but  she  kept  him  in  sus- 
pense for  at  least  three  minutes  before  she  asked: 

"  Aint  it  about  time  for  the  next  annual  temperance 
meet—" 

"I  vow!"  interrupted  the  Squire.  "So  it  is.  An' 
'twont  be  my  fault  if  he  don't  sign  the  pledge.  Let's 
see — the  meetin'  comes  off  in  about  two  weeks,  an'  I 
know  the  lecturer  that's  comin' ;  now,  I'll  just  write  him 
an'  ask  him  if  he  can't  put  in  somethin'  to  hit  drinkers 
that's  the  only  support  of  their  parents — that's  Lem's 
weakest  spot,  you  know.  But  oh,  Marg'ret,  do  you  ever 
wonder  why  the  Lord  let's  folks  get  a  love  for  such  soul- 
destroyin'  stuff  as  liquor?" 

"  That  I  do,"  replied  Mrs.  Barkum,  with  great  earnest- 
ness. " c  His  ways  are  inscrutable  an'  past  h'ndin'  out.' 
There's  one  comfort,  though — if  Lem's  elected  to  des- 
truction, we  can't  alter  the  Lord's  will,  an'  we  can't  be 
blamed  for  not  trvin'." 


A  /Story  of  Western  Life.  53 

"  That's  so,"  assented  the  Squire,  "  but  we  ain't  to  be 
supposed  to  work  against  the  will  of  Providence  if  we 
keep  the  bqy  out  of  temptation  as  much  as  possible.  I 
must  keep  him  busier,  so  he  don't  get  a  chance  to  loaf 
into  rum-shops — that's  a  clear  p'int  of  duty  that  I've 
been  remiss  about." 

During  the  ensuing  fortnight  the  Squire  displayed 
such  unusual  interest  in  the  approaching  temperance 
meeting  that  the  committee,  which  had  the  matter  in 
charge,  attempted  to  secure  from  him  a  subscription  aux- 
iliary to  the  dollar  which  he  annually  gave  toward  the 
defraying  of  the  expenses  of  the  meeting.  In  this  effort 
the  committee  was  utterly  unsuccessful,  but  the  Squire 
explained  that  he  objected  only  on  principle — he  did 
not  believe  in  giving  so  much  that  other  people  would 
feel  that  there  was  no  need  for  them  to  give.  He  was 
willing,  though,  to  do  more  than  his  share  in  one  way — 
he  would  give  the  services  of  his  man  Lem  to  distribute 
the  circulars  which  were  always  sent  out  as  final  remind- 
ers on  the  afternoon  preceding  the  evening  of  the  meet- 
ing. 

The  committee  accepted  the  Squire's  offer,  and  the 
Squire  urged  them  to  have  plenty  of  circulars.  That 


54:  The  JericJio  Road ; 

same  evening,  at  his  family  altar,  the  Squire  returned 
fervent  thanks  to  heaven  for  the  opportunity  which  had 
been  given  him  in  which  to  let  his  feeble  light  shine. 
During  the  days  which  remained,  the  Squire  employed 
his  spare  moments  in  tracing  on  a  county  map,  a  route 
by  which  as  many  persons  as  possible  could  be  reached 
by  the  circulars.  "  It's  a  good  deed,  Marg'ret,"  he  ex- 
plained to  his  wife,  "  an'  folks  won't  think  none  the  less 
of  us,  nor  come  any  seldomer  to  our  store  to  trade,  when 
they  see  whose  man  it  is  that  leaves  the  circulars.  It 
must  be  a  good  twenty  mile — back  an'  forth,  an'  out — 
that  I've  marked  out  for  him,  an'  it'll  take  him  about  all 
day,  after  he's  done  the  chores,  to  do  the  job,  but  I  don't 
b'lieve  we'll  lose  a  cent  by  it." 

The  final  day  arrived,  and  Lem,  with  a  hearty  God- 
speed from  the  Squire,  and  a  pressing  injunction  to 
hurry,  so  as  to  be  back  in  time  to  attend  to  his  household 
duties  before  the  time  for  meeting  to  open,  started  on 
his  route.  The  day  was  hot,  and  the  package  of  circulars 
was  not  small,  but  Lem  started  with  a  brisk  step.  He 
displayed  a  more  cheerful  face  than  was  usual  with  him. 
The  unusual  nature  of  the  labor  jifiWdnl  a  pleasant 
change,  and  the  Squire's  remarks  upon  the  honorable 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  55 

nature  of  the  duty  before  him  had  touched  a  responsive 
chord  in  the  young  man's  heart. 

Towards  evening  it  seemed  evident  that  Lena  had  done 
his  duty  quite  thoroughly.  Besides  the  few  people  who 
always  came  from  adjacent  settlements  to  such  meetings, 
the  roads  were  full  of  a  class  of  suburban  settlers  who 
had,  for  about  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  received  a 
circular  at  their  own  doors. 

The  Squire  noticed  the  crowd,  and  was  glad.  The 
absence  of  Lem  had  resulted  in  the  Squire's  doing  at  his 
store  a  great  deal  more  work  than  had  been  necessary  to 
him  of  late,  and  a  new  sense  of  the  worth  of  Lem,  and  a 
sense,  also,  of  the  greatness  of  that  self-abnegation  which 
had  prompted  him  to  lend  his  man  to  the  committee,  had 
not  been  sufficient  to  keep  the  Squire's  temper  at  a  proper 
degree  of  sweetness.  As  work  decreased,  however,  and 
the  effects  of  the  circulars  multiplied  rapidly  and  visibly, 
the  small  boy  who  assisted  the  Squire,  heard  his  employer 
softly  sing, 

"  Shall  I  be  carried  to  the  skies 

On  flowery  beds  of  ease, 
Whilst  others  fight  to  win  the  prize, 

And  sail  through  bloody  seas  ?M 


56  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

Looking  out  on  the  principal  road  which  led  to  the 
country,  the  Squire  noticed  that  something  seemed  to 
cause  people  to  stop,  temporarily,  on  their  way.  Several 
boys  seemed  to  be  standing  about  in  contemplative  attit- 
tudes  and  the  Squire  noticed  that  a  woman  was  cutting 
from  a  roadside  thicket  some  boughs,  which  she  stuck 
into  the  ground  between  the  boys  and  the  sun,  which  was 
still  an  hour  or  more  high.  The  Squire  wondered  what 
could  be  going  on,  but  as  the  incoming  people  before 
reaching  his  store,  turned  from  the  main  road  and  toward 
the  church  in  which  the  meeting  was  to  be  held,  the 
Squire  found  no  one  whom  he  could  question.  But  bus- 
iness was  dull  at  that  particular  hour,  and  as  the  Squire 
was  entitled  to  a  platform  seat  at  the  meeting,  and  was 
not,  therefore,  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  his  supper,  he  con- 
cluded to  visit  personally  the  scene  of  the  excitement. 
As  he  reached  the  corner  where  the  people  turned  off, 
he  caught  fragments  of  the  nature  of  comments. 

"No  use  to  try  to  do  any  thing  with  such — "  he  heard 
from  Colonel  Burt,  as  that  warrior's  buggy  whUked 
round  the  corner. 

" — An  example  to  you,  Georgie,"  came  from  the  lips 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  57 

of  Mrs.  Farmer  Perry,  as  she  jogged  by  on  horseback, 
with  her  half-grown  son  on  a  blanket  behind  her. 

"Some  folks  are  nothing  but  animals;  sympathy  is 
only  wasted  on  them,",  said  ex-Judge  Bowler,  of  a  neigh- 
boring township,  across  his  shoulder  to  his  two  sweet- 
faced,  dim-eyed  daughters,  who  occupied  the  back  seat 
of  his  carriage.  The  Squire  quickened  his  pace. 

" — Infernal  shame,  but  what  can  anybody  do?"  roared 
Farmer  Bates  at  his  family,  who  filled  the  straw-covered 
bottom  of  his  great  farm-wagon. 

" — Good  ducking — "  was  all  the  Squire  heard,  as  two 
successful  farmers  galloped  by  on  horseback,  and  then 
the  Squire  heard  a  man  (from  whom  he  had  once  en- 
dured some  harsh  epithets  after  selling  him  a  horse)  say : 

"  Let  the  old  scoundrel  that's  to  blame  make  the  mat- 
ter right." 

A  few  steps  further,  and  the  Squire's  anxiety  was 
changed  to  sorrow  and  anger,  for  there,  in  the  shade  of 
the  boughs,  with  his  head  on  a  pile  of  undistributed 
circulars,  lay  the  Squire's  man,  Lem,  dead  drunk. 


58  The  Jericho  Road ; 


CHAPTEE    VI. 

THE   HEKO    EXPLAINS. 

THE  temperance  meeting  was  exceptionally  successful ; 
the  largest  church  at  Mount  Zion  was  crowded,  even  to 
the  window-sills.  The  Mount  Zion  brass  band  was  there 
and  discoursed  lively  music;  some  spirited  solos  were 
sung  by  a  professional  temperance  glee  quartette;  the 
lecturer  uttered  a  powerful  address,  and  though  the 
Squire  regretted  that  Lem  could  not  hear  the  portion 
which  had  been  prepared  with  special  view  to  his  case,  he 
could  not  help  being  pleased  by  the  dexterous  manner  in 
which  the  lecturer  had  made  use  of  his  suggestions.  When 
the  pledges  were  passed,  signatures  were  numerous; 
many  of  the  boys  who  had  seen  Lem  lying  by  the  road- 
side, needed  no  urging  to  pledge  themselves  to  abstain 
from  intoxicating  liquors  of  every  sort;  while  not  a  few 
moderate  drinkers  of  greater  age  had  been  by  Lem's 
condition  so  impressed  with  the  possible  results  of 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  59 

habitual  drinking,  that  their  names  appeared  upon  the 
pledge  with  a  frequency  which  no  one  had  dared  to  expect. 

While  the  pledges  were  still  being  circulated,  and 
just  after  a  tremendous  effort  by  the  brass  band,  there 
was  an  unusual  commotion  among  the  small  boys  on  the 
pulpit-steps ;  a  moment  later  the  form  of  Squire  Barkum 
appeared  on  the  platform.  First  whispering  to  the  chair- 
man of  the  meeting,  the  Squire  advanced  to  the  front  and 
coughed  impressively.  The  audience  subsided  into  ordi- 
nary quiet,  and  the  Squire  lifted  up  his  voice. 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  I  didn't  expect  to  say  any- 
thing at  this  meetin';  on  any  other  occasion  I  should 
feel  as  if  my  feeble  words  would  be  of  no  use,  after  the 
powerful  lecture  we've  all  listened  to.  But  out  of  the 
abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,  my  friends; 
an'  my  heart  is  full,  an'  it  isn't  with  joy  either.  A  few 
months  ago  I  picked  up  a  poor  fellow  who  was  in  great 
distress,  and  who  I  thought  might  be  a  proper  and 
deserving  object  of  charity.  I  took  him  to  my  own 
house,  my  friends;  I  fed  him;  I  supplied  him  with 
money  to  send  to  his  mother's  family,  which  is  dependent 
upon  him  for  support;  I  treated  him  just  as  I'd  have 
treated  my  own  son,  if  I'd  had  one.  But  I  found  out 


60  The  Jericho  Road ; 

one  day  that  he  had  an  appetite  for  liquor.  I  felt  like 
sendin'  him  away  at  once,  but  that  didn't  seem  a  Chris- 
tian thing  to  do ;  so  I  reasoned  with  him,  and  plead  with 
him,  and  rebuked  him,  an'  showed  him  both  the  natural 
an'  the  speretual  way  of  overcomin'  his  adversary.  I 
even,  to  inspire  his  heart  on  the  subject  of  temperance, 
gave  him  his  whole  time  to-day  to  pass  around  the  circu- 
lars of  this  meetin'.  But,  alas !  my  friends,  some  of  you 
know  what's  on  my  heart — a  few  hours  ago  I  found  that 
young  man  lyin'  blind  drunk  by  the  side  of  the  road. 
Of  course  I  can't  keep  such  a  person  about  me;  but  I 
want  to  say,  my  friends,  that  I'll  be  sustained  through 
my  disappointment  and  sorrer  if  I  can  feel  that  my  loss 
is  somebody  else's  gain." 

"  It  '11  be  Lern's  gain,  sure  as  shootin',"  shouted  a 
voice,  evidently  disguised,  from  the  gallery.  A  few 
thoughtless  young  people  tittered,  and  suppressed  emo- 
tion was  noticeable  even  in  the  countenances  of  many 
citizens  who  had  hitherto  borne  excellent  reputations, 
but  the  Squire  disregarded  all  these  unkind  manifesta- 
tions, and  continued: 

"  It'll  be  for  the  gain  of  everybody  if  they'll  learn  from 
my  experience  that  the  love  of  drink  makes  men  evil- 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  61 

minded,  an'  thankless,  an'  unnatural,  an'  ungrateful,  an' 
unmindful  of  the  tenderest  ties,  an' " 

"  I  aint  none  of  them  things,"  shouted  a  voice  from 
somewhere  near  the  door.  The  audience  hastily  rose 
and  looked  around,  and  those  who  mounted  the  benches 
saw,  in  the  rear  of  the  center  aisle  of  the  church,  the 
short,  thin  figure — apparently  shorter  and  thinner  than 
ever — of  the  Squire's  man-of-all-work. 

"Drunk"— " Put  him  out!"— "Shameful! "—"Out- 
rageous!" and  other  cries  arose  from  the  audience.  The 
Squire  turned  to  the  chairman  and  exclaimed: 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  I  want  to  know  if  a  member  of  this 
Society  is  to  be  interrupted  by  an  outsider,  an'  one  who's 
just  disgraced  this  whole  community?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  the  chairman  (who  had  been 
a  member  of  the  State  Legislature),  springing  to  his  feet. 
"  No  one  but  members  of  the  Society  are  entitled  to  the 
privileges  of  the  floor." 

Bill  Fussell,  a  rising  young  lawyer,  and  one  of  the 
members  who  had  circulated  the  pledge  among  the  audi- 
ence, elbowed  his  way  hastily  to  Lem's  side,  thrust  a 
pencil  and  paper  into  Lem's  hand,  and  then  shouted: 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  Lemuel  Pankett  is  legally  a  member 


62  The  Jericho  Road ; 

of  this  Society,  having  just  signed  the  pledge,  which  is 
the  only  condition  of  full  membership." 

"He's  drunk! "  roared  the  Squire.  "Is  this  meetin'  to 
be  insulted  by  such  a  piece  of  chicanery?  Who  sets  any 
importance  by  what  a  man  does  when  he's  drunk?" 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  exclaimed  the  village  doctor,  rising 
to  his  feet,  "  the  man  is  not  drunk — I  make  this  state- 
ment professionally,  having  had  Pankett  under  my  care 
for  several  hours.  He  has  not  fully  recovered  from  the 
eifects  of  the  liquor  he  has  drank,  perhaps,  but  he  is 
mentally  in  that  condition  intermediate  between  drunk- 
enness and  consequent  mental  depression — a  condition 
which,  in  men  of  his  organization,  is  marked  by  unusual 
mental  activity." 

The  chairman  again  arose.  "  The  opinion  of  Dr.  Beers 
demands  respect,"  said  he,  "  and  Mr.  Pankett  must  there- 
fore be  recognized  as  a  member  in  full  standing.  But 
the  floor  of  the  society  is  not, the  place  for  recrimination 
and  personal  explanations;  Mr.  Pankett  cannot,  there- 
fore, be  allowed  to  proceed." 

Again  Bill  Fussell  approached  Lem,  and  a  bystander 
with  acute  ears  heard  the  young  lawyer  whisper: 

"  Apologize — say  you  want  to  speak  a  few  words  about 
a  drunkard's  experience — then  he  can't  rule  you  out." 


A  /Story  of  Western  Life.  63 

Lem  jumped  upon  a  chair,  thrust  his  hands  through 
his  hair,  and  exclaimed: 

"Mr.  Chairman,  I'm  sorry  for  disturbin'  the  meetin'; 
I'm  an  ignorant  man,  an'  I  don't  know  much  about  rules 
an'  regelations.  But  mebbe  there's  some  people  here 
that  want  to  know  how  awful  it  is  to  be  drunk,  an' 
there's  nobody  in  the  room  that  has  had  later  informa- 
tion about  it  than  I  have." 

Auditors  who  had  not  yet  stood  upon  their  benches 
and  chairs  hastened  to  do  so ;  one  person  of  short  stature 
was  even  so  curious  that  he  gave  a  silver  quarter  to  a 
small  boy  standing  on  a  crowded  window-sill  to  exchange 
places  with  him.  Lem  continued: 

"  I  made  up  my  mind  a  week  ago  to  jine  the  tem- 
p'rance  society  this  very  night,  an'  I'm  glad  I've  been 
able  to  do  it.  This  mornin'  I  started  out  to  carry  around 
the  circulars  of  the  meetin',  an'  just  doin'  that  made  me 
feel  right  happy — it  reely  did.  I  got  along  right  well 
till  nigh  about  noon,  an'  then  I  begun  to  feel  tuckered 
out.  'Twas  awful  hot  wherever  the  sun  wasn't  shaded, 
an'  I  begun  to  feel  light-headed  an'  onstiddy  in  my  legs. 
An'  yet  I  wasn't  half  done.  After  I  got.  my  dinner  I 
didn't  feel  as  if  I  ever  could  stand  up  an'  walk  around 


64  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

the  rest  of  the  way.  Then  I  thought  of  how  good  a 
drink  of  whisky  would  make  me  feel  for  two  or  three 
hours;  after  that  I  couldn't  think  about  anything  else — 
my  knees,  an'  my  head,  an'  my  back,  an'  every  part  of 
me  just  seemed  to  beg  for  whisky.  I'd  told  the  fellers 
at  the  grocery  a  week  before  that  1  was  goin'  to  swear 
off,  so  I  was  ashamed  to  go  there  an'  drink,  'specially 
when  they  knew  I  was  carryin'  round  the  circulars,  so  I 
went  in  the  back  door  of  the  grocery,  an'  made  up  a  lie 
about  the  cow  havin'  a  lame  leg,  an'  I  bought  half  a  pint 
of  whisky  in  a  bottle  to  rub  it  with.  I  drank  some 
as  soon  as  I  could  on  the  sly,  and  then  I  got  along  the 
road  nicely,  and  didn't  feel  shaky  a  bit  for  two  or  three 
hours;  when  I  did  feel  peaked  again,  I  took  some  more, 
an'  I  went  over  every  road  the  Squire  marked  out  for 
me,  but  the  minute  I  knowed  the  work  was  all  done 
there  didn't  seem  to  be  a  bit  of  life  left  in  me — I  tried 
to  walk  to  where  there  was  shade,  so  I  could  rest,  but  my 
eyes  growed  dazy,  an'  I  shook  all  over,  an'  the  next  I  re- 
member I  was  on  the  doctor's  back  stoop  with  my  head 
all  wet,  an'  he  a  holdin'  a  bottle  of  somethin'  awful  burn- 
in'  to  my  nose.  An'  if  any  body  here  knowed  how  my 
heart  was  thumpiu'  now,  an'  how  my  tact  seamed  all  on 


A  Story  of   Western  Life,  65 

fire,  an'  how  awful  'shamed  an'  good  for  nothin'  I  feel  in 
my  mind,  he  wouldn't  ever  touch  a  drop  as  long  as  he 
lived." 

A  perfect  tempest  of  applause  went  up  from  the 
audience  as  these  last  words  escaped  the  speaker — even 
the  Squire  was  seen  to  clap  his  hands.  Lem  proceeded 
as  far  as  "  An'  as  to  bein'  ungrateful — "  when  the  chair- 
man rapped  vigorously  and  shouted, 

"  Personalities  are  not  in  order." 

Bill  Fussell  plucked  at  Lena's  shoulder  and  drew  his 
head  down.  "  Put  it  some  other  way,"  he  whispered. 
Lem  scratched  his  head,  bit  his  lips,  wrinkled  his  brows, 
and  burst  out  crying;  subduing  his  feelings  by  a  violent 
effort,  he  resumed  : 

"  An'  if  there's  anybody  here,  Mr.  Chairman,  that's 
got  anybody  else  dependin'  on  'em  for  a  livin',  I  just 
want  to  tell  'em  that  the  awfullest  thing  to  think  about 
when  a  feller's  been  drunk  is,  that  besides  wastin'  his 
money,  he's  spoiled  himself  for  a  full  day's  work  for  two 
or  three  days  to  come.  If  there's  anybody  he  wants  to 
please,  he  knows  he  can't  be  fully  up  to  the  mark  until 
he's  got  all  over  his  spree.  If  there's  anything  he's  got 
on  his  mind  that  he  ought  to  do,  an'  is  miserable  until 


66  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

he  does  it,  its  all  the  same — he  couldn't  do  it  if  he  was 
to  die  for  it.  When  a  man  gets  over  his  spree,  he  thinks 
more  about  what  he  ought  to  do,  an'  what  he  haint  done, 
than  he  could  do  in  a  month  of  sober  days." 

Lem  jumped  off  his  chair,  the  audience  gave  vent  to 
a  storm  of  delight,  and  the  chairman  stepped  up  to  the 
Squire,  who  still  stood  upon  the  platform,  and  whispered: 

"  He  said  it,  after  all,  Squire — and  he  means  it,  too." 

But  the  Squire  was  not  fully  satisfied.  To  have  a 
speech — the  only  one  he  had  ever  made  outside  of  a 
church  meeting — so  completely .  upset  as  his  had  been, 
and  to  have  the  moral  effect  of  the  speech  so  utterly  set 
aside,  was  very  provoking.  The  Squire  mentally  noted 
the  names  of  such  of  the  applauders  as  owed  him 
money,  with  the  intention  of  dunning  them  without 
mercy  at  an  early  date;  then  he  said: 

"  Men  have  been  converted  to  religion  on  their  death- 
beds, an'  I  don't  say  it  can't  be  done  in  the  temperance 
cause.  But  I  won't  have  suffered  any  less,  and  the  lesson 
ain't  any  less  to  be  remembered.  But'" — here  a  happy 
thought  struck  the  Squire  with  such  force  that  his  rather 
uncomely  face  was  completely  irradiated  by  it — "  but  I 
wouldn't  be  a  stumblin'-block  to  such  people;  an'  as  the 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  67 

person  that  spoke  last  seems  to  be  in  earnest,  I'm  willin' 
to  forget  all  the  feelin's  I've  had  about  him,  an'  treat  him 
just  as  if  nothing  had  ever  happened." 

Part  of  the  better  class  of  people  in  the  audience 
applauded;  others  looked  quizzical  or  doubting;  while 
from  the  boys  in  the  gallery  came  the  single  expression 
"  Ah! "  with  an  intonation  and  a  volume  that  caused  the 
Squire  to  tremble  and  retire. 


68  The  Jericho  Road ; 


CHAPTER   YII. 

THE   INNOCENT   SUFFERS   FOR   THE   GUILTY. 

AFTER  the  close  of  the  temperance  meeting  the  newest 
member  of  the  society  hastened  to  his  home.  Finding, 
to  his  delight,  that  the  milk-pans  were  full,  that  there 
was  plenty  of  wood  by  the  kitchen  stove,  and  that  there 
were  other  evidences  that  his  employer  had  attended  to 
those  household  duties  from  which  he  had  been  so  long 
relieved,  Lem  attempted  to  retire  and  get  some  rest 
before  he  should  be  called  upon  to  endure  the  rebuke 
which  he  did  not  doubt  would  be  bestowed  upon  him. 
But  he  was  unsuccessful;  he  heard  some  one  at  the  front 
door,  near  which  he  must  pass  to  reach  his  own  room. 
In  the  desperation  of  cowardice  he  determined  to  escape 
by  the  back-door  and  spend  the  night  in  the  barn,  but  as 
he  opened  the  door  he  encountered  the  Squire,  who  had 
been  to  the  well  for  a  drink  of  water.  His  escape  hoing 
thus  completely  prevented,  he  retreated  abjectly  to  the 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  69 

kitchen,  and  industriously  devoted  himself  to  the  prepar- 
ation of  kindlings  for  the  morning's  fire. 

Mrs.  Barkum  entered  the  kitchen  and  coughed  threat- 
eningly, sat  down  in  a  rocking-chair,  folded  her  hands, 
stared  at  Lem,  and  groaned.  The  unhappy  youth 
redoubled  his  exertions  and  prepared  kindling  for  at 
least  a  week  to  come,  but  out  of  the  corners  of  his  aching 
eyes  he  saw  that  Mrs.  Barkum  Js  stare  did  not  relax. 
Then  the  Squire  entered,  and  Lem  felt  that  the  thump- 
ing of  his  own  unhappy  heart  could  be  heard  in  the  heart 
of  the  village.  The  Squire  uttered  the  single  word 
"Lemuel!"  and  the  wretched  boy's  hat  seemed  to  invol- 
untarily slide  toward  his  eyes,  as  its  unhappy  owner 
answered: 

"Sir?" 

"  I  hope  you're  happy,"  said  the  Squire,  "  now  that 
you've  so  utterly  disgraced  us." 

"  'Twas  the  awfullest  thing  I  ever  heerd  of,"  groaned 
Mrs.  Barkum. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  minded  it  so  much  if  I  hadn't  been 
an  officer  of  the  Society,"  said  the  good  man. 

"And  a  justice  of  the  peace,  too,"  suggested  the  lady. 

"Just  so,"  said  the  head  of  the  household,  accepting 


70  The  Jericho  Road; 

the  amendment.  "  I  believe  in  takin'  up  my  cross,  an' 
I've  done  it  by  lettin'  you  come  back  again,  but  the 
cross  ain't  a  light  one,  I  can  tell  you — " 

"  An'  its  gallin'  to  the  shoulder  of  two  people,"  inter- 
polated Mrs.  Barkum. 

"  That's  so,"  said  the  Squire.  "  There's  no  knowing 
where  an'  who  it  don't  hurt  in  some  way.  The  conse- 
quences of  sin  are  infinite,  an'  there's  no  knowin'  where 
they'll  ever  stop." 

The  Squire  paused,  to  enjoy  for  a  moment  the  con- 
templation of  the  possible  extent  of  the  harm  wrought 
by  Lem's  wicked  act.  The  silence  seemed  to  the  boy  too 
terrible  for  endurance,  so  he  essayed  again  to  continue 
with  his  work;  again  the  Squire  exclaimed  "Lemuel!" 
however,  and  the  hatchet  and  stick  of  wood  fell  from  the 
boy's  nerveless  hands. 

"  Youv'e  signed  the  pledge,"  said  the  Squire;  "'twas 
a  good  thing  to  do,  but  'tain't  enough — 'tain't  assurin'. 
If  you  could'n't  be  trusted  to  keep  sober  when  you  was 
actually  engaged  in  temperance  work,  how  am  I  to  trust 
you  when  you're  knockin'  around  at  common  jobs?" 

Lemuel  did  not  answer;  in  the  mental  condition  in 
which  he  was,  he  could  not  easily  have  told  whether  it 
was  day  or  night. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  71 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  this,"  continued  the 
Squire.  "  As  a  sober  man  you  were  worth  eight  dollars 
a  month  to  me,  but  a  drunkard  ain't  worth  anything. 
So  if  you  want  to  stay  with  me,  you  must  be  satisfied 
with  half  pay — four  dollars  a  month — until  I  feel  sure 
you  ain't  goin'  to  drink  again." 

"  An'  half  board,"  suggested  Mrs.  Barkum,  but  the 
Squire  said: 

"  No — I'm  willin'  to  be  gen'rous,  even  at  the  risk  of 
not  bein'  quite  just — let  the  board  go  on  just  as  it  was." 

"  But  he  ought  to  work  harder  'to  make  up  for  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Barkum,  and  the  Squire  nodded  his  head  and  said: 

"  That's  so.  Four  dollars  a  month  won't  be  as  good 
to  your  mother  as  eight  dollars,  but  you  can  write  her 
'twas  all  your  fault." 

"Mother!"  exclaimed  Lem,  springing  to  his  feet  and 
bursting  into  tears;  then  he  hurried  out  of  the  kitchen 
and  went  to  his  own  room,  while  the  Squire  said  to  his 
wife,  in  a  tone  not  exactly  affectionate: 

"What  did  you  say  that  about  half  board  for, 
Marg'ret? — he  might  go  tell  somebody.  Pay  is  pay,  an' 
tain't  no  disgrace  to  get  a  man  to  work  as  cheap  as  you 
can;  but  cuttin'  down  a  man's  victuals  always  sounds 


72  The  Jericho  Road; 

"  I  don't  see  why  it's  any  meaner  for  me  to  cut  him 
down,  than  'tis  for  you,"  retorted  Mrs.  Barkum. 

"That's  'cos  you're  a  woman,  an'  don't  understand 
bizness  ways,"  said  the  Squire.  "  It  don't  do  any  good 
to  talk  about  it,  though;  let's  have  prayers — it's  gettin' 
late."  And  the  Squire  read  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal 
Son,  a  grateful  tear  coming  into  his  eye  as  he  did  it; 
then  he  recited  his  usual  prayer,  with  a  single  addendum 
to  the  effect  that  he  thanked  the  Lord  for  again  giving 
him  an  opportunity  of  letting  his  feeble  light  so  shine 
that  men,  seeing  his  good  deeds,  might  glorify  God. 
Then  the  good  couple  retired.  But  a  few  moments  after 
the  light  was  extinguished  the  Squire  exclaimed: 

"  Marg'ret,  are  you  asleep  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum. 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  Squire,  "  don't  you  see  that  if 
you  put  him  on  half  board  he  wouldn't  be  able  to  do  so 
much  work?  There  ain't  no  economy  in  that." 

"I  don't  know  but  you're  right,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum, 
after  a  moment's  reflection.  "You  are  a  wise  one  at 
plannin',  Aaron." 

"  I  do  the  best  I  can  with  such  talents  as  has  been 
entrusted  to  my  care,"  said  the  devout  old  man.  "  I 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  73 

didn't  think  of  that  about  the  board  at  first,  but  when 
men  does — their  best — with  what  light  they've — got — 
they're  helped — to  the  right  words  by  —  the  sperit  of — " 
The  Squire  concluded  his  sentence  in  dreamland. 


74  The  Jericho  Itoad; 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 

THE    DOCTOR     GETS     ABOVE    HIS     BUSINESS,    AND    DOES    NOT 
ESCAPE   BEBUKE. 

THE  Squire  had  barely  reached  his  store  in  the  morn- 
ing when  Doctor  Beers  appeared. 

"  That  man  of  yours  was  in  a  pretty  bad  way  yester- 
day, Squire,"  said  he.  "  Organizations  like  his  don't 
easily  recover  from  such  a  shock.  I'm  glad  I  found  him 
just  when  I  did,  or  I  mightn't  have  been  able  to  get  him 
up  so  safely." 

"You  don't  mean  that  you're  goin'  to  charge  your 
doctorin'  him  up  to  mef  "  exclaimed  the  Squire.  "  He's 
got  to  pay  it  himself.  He's  able  to  do  it,  he  ought  to 
do  it,  an'  he  must  do  it.  I'd  feel  as  if  I  was  encouragin' 
intemperance  if  I  was  to  pay  that  bill." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  paid  for  it  by  either  of  you,"  said 
the  doctor,  his  face  flushing.  "  I  came  in  to  talk  about 
something  else.  Some  weeks  ago  I  tried  to  explain  to 
you  something  about  the  fellow's  physical  condition,  but 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  75 

I'm  not  sure  that  I  made  it  clear.  The  truth  is.  he  needs 
to  be  taken  care  of.  His  physique  was  never  a  good  one, 
I  imagine,  and  he  is  now  attenuated  almost  to  a  skele- 
ton, his  circulation  is  very  low,  and  his  vital  force  is  ex- 
tremely feeble.  I  don't  see  how  he  works  at  all." 

"  Ah,  it's  grit,  doctor,  that's  the  stuff  that  makes  men. 
Think  of  Andrew  Jackson,  glorious  old  Hickory,  with 
one  of  his  lungs  gone  for  half  of  his  life,  an'  yet  what 
he  did." 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  "but  old  Hickory,  besides 
drinking  a  great  deal  of  whisky,  had  something  to 
stimulate  him,  some  prospects  before  him,  but  what  has 
your  man  got?" 

"  He's  got  his  mother,  an'  brothers  an'  sisters,"  said 
the  Squire,  earnestly,  "  an'  he  cares  as  much  for  them  as 
old  Hickory  cared  for  the  White  House  or  anything  else 
he  had  his  eye  on." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  there's  some  such  incentive  before 
the  young  man,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  it  explains  what 
I  couldn't  clearly  understand,  why  he  has  been  able  to 
do  as  much  as  he  has.  But  he  can't  do  it  much  longer. 
He's  simply  used  up.  He  may  last  a  month  or  two,  but 
when  he  breaks  down  there'll  be  very  little  chance  of  his 
getting  up  again." 


76  The  Jericho  Road ; 

"  Gracious !"  exclaimed  the  Squire.  "  "Where'd  I  better 
send  him  ?  I  can't  afford  to  have  him  sick  on  my  hands, 
an'  there  ain't  any  poor-house  in  the  county.  If  he's  in 
that  fix,  he  ought  to  be  savin'  money  to  pay  his  expenses 
when  he's  sick.  It's  all  very  well  to  send  money  to  his 
family,  but  he  hain't  any  business  to  cheat  other  folks 
out  of  his  funeral  expenses." 

The  doctor  stared — glared  rather — at  the  Squire  for  a 
moment,  turned  abruptly,  walked  to  the  door,  walked 
back  again,  looked  the  Squire  full  in  the  eye,  and  said: 

"  I  didn't  come  to  you  to  say  what  should  be  done 
when  he  died,  Squire  Barkum — I  came  to  suggest  that 
it  would  be  advisable  to  prevent  that  catastrophe.  He 
has  signed  the  pledge  and  agreed  to  give  up  the  use  of 
stimulants;  physically,  that  means  that  he  will  for  a  few 
days  grow  even  thinner  and  weaker,  and  be  in  greater 
danger  than  he  has  ever  been.  I  wanted  to  suggest  that 
if  you  could  lessen  his  duties,  or  change  them  somewhat, 
so  that  he  would  have  less  physical  and  mental  taxation 
to  undergo,  it  would  be  an  excellent  %iing  for  him,  by 
giving  him  a  proper  chance  to  regain  a  working  consti- 
tution." 

The  Squire  straightened  the  several  curves  into  which 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  77 

his  back  habitually  composed  itself  when  at  leisure, 
raised  his  spectacles  as  high  as  the  brim  of  his  hat  would 
allow,  and  replied: 

"Excuse  me,  doctor,  if  I  say  that  you're  gettin' 
outside  of  your  perfession  when  you  prescribe  a  medi- 
cine that  you  can't  give  him  yourself.  It  may  all  be 
just  as  you  say — I've  no  business  to  doubt  that  it  is,  but 
/  don't  keep  a  hospital,  an'  I  don't  feel  called  upon  to 
go  into  that  business.  I  don't  see  why  I  should  do  any 
more  for  that  boy  than  anybody  else  does ;  he  does  work 
for  me,  an'  I  pay  him  for  it,  an'  that's  the  end  of  it.  If 
he's  to  be  helped,  that's  another  thing,  but  my  'range- 
ment  with  him 's  a  business  one,  an'  business  is  busi- 
ness." 

"I  thought  I  understood  you,  at  the  meeting  last 
night,  that  you  were  moved  solely  by  charitable  feelings 
when  you  first  assisted  him,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  Squire  winced,  balanced  himself  alternately  on 
each  foot  several  times,  and  replied: 

"  So  I  did,  but  when  I  found  he  was  able  to  work,  it 
made  things  different.  I  don't  give  charity  to  able- 
bodied  men.  If  he's  goin'  to  die,  let  somebody  else 


78  The  Jericho  JKoad  / 

show  charity,  too, — there's  no  reason  why  I  should  do  all 
of  it." 

The  doctor's  face  grew  fixed;  he  cut  square  in  two  a 
stick  he  had  been  carefully  trimming  with  his  knife, 
raised  his  head,  and  said: 

"  Yes  there  is." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  Squire,  with  a  wondering 
stare. 

"Because,"  said  the  doctor,  buttoning  his  coat, 
"you're  the  only  one  to  blame  for  his  condition.  The 
matter  with  him  is,  that  you've  worked  him  nearly  to 
death;  he  drinks  to  stimulate  faculties  which  you've 
nearly  exhausted  in  him,  and  if  he  dies,  you'll  be  the 
person  particularly  to  blame.  Practically  —  although 
you're  innocent  of  any  such  intention,  of  course, — prac- 
tically, you'll  be  his  murderer  if  he  dies." 

The  Squire  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  counter  with 
a  crash.  "It's  a  lie!"  he  roared.  "That's  just  the  way 
with  you  book-learned  fellows — the  first  thing  you  find 
out  is,  how  to  shove  blame  on  somebody.  Here  "-  -  for 
the  doctor  was  just  stepping  out  of  the  door — "come 
back,  doctor, — I  don't  mean  that  you  lie,  you  know  I 
don't  mean  that,  but  I  mean  I'm  not  to  blame  for  any- 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  79 

thing  like  that.  I'm  not  to  be  expected  to  know  about 
a  fellow's  bodily  condition." 

"You  know  it  now,"  said  the  doctor.  "J/y  conscience 
is  relieved,  and  if  I  hadn't  been  averse  to  meddling  with 
the  affairs  of  other  people,  I  should  have  said  all  this  to 
you  long  ago.  Don't  imagine  there's  any  mistake 
about  it;  the  boy  is  barely  strong  enough  to  live,  even 
with  good  care.  Good  morning." 

The  tire  that  flashed  through  the  good  Squire's  specta- 
cles as  the  doctor  departed,  would  certainly  have  ignited 
that  gentleman's  clothing  had  he  remained  within  range 
of  its  focus.  A  bystander  would  have  been  frightened 
even  to  see  how  the  Squire's  gaze  rested  abstractedly 
upon  a  keg  of  sporting  powder  on  the  counter,  as  he 
relieved  his  mind  upon  the  subject  of  the  doctor's  imper- 
tinence. He  even  declared  to  himself  that  he  would 
never  employ  the  doctor  again,  were  it  not  that  he  did 
not  think  it  right  for  so  old  a  man  to  trust  his  possibili- 
ties for  good  into  the  hands  of  inexperienced  upstarts, 
like  the  other  physicians  in  the  village  seemed  to  him  to 
be.  But  the  Squire's  anger  was  short-lived;  prudence 
was  the  leading  quality  of  his  mind,  and  it  quickly 
asserted  its  supremacy. 


SO  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

"  I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  some  thing  that'll  look 
right  to  the  doctor,"  said  he,  "  an'  do  it  quick,  too,  or 
maybe  he'll  go  talkin'  around  to  other  folks  about  me, 
an'  it'll  be  just  like  them  to  believe  him ;  they  all  think 
he  knows  every  thing  about  the  way  human  bein's  get 
sick  an'  get  well.  I  always  thought  so  myself,  till  this 
mornin.'  'Sposin'  he  should  be  'right — only  'sposin' 
it — how  can  1  be  to  blame,  when  I  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  it?  I  ain't  posted  on  natural  law,  and  don't 
the  Apostle  say  'without  the  law  sin  was  dead?'  An' 
how  do  I  know  the  doctor  ain't  mistaken,  any  how? 
But  this  ain't  thinkin'  what  to  do  to  keep  him  from 
talkin'." 

The  Squire  pondered  long  and  earnestly;  he  pinchod 
up  his  forehead,  scratched  his  head,  rubbed  his  eye- 
brows, and  beat  a  vigorous  tattoo  with  his  fingers  on  the 
counter,  but  he  reached  no  solution  of  his  puzzle.  The 
Squire  began  to  feel  doleful,  and  then,  as  always  hap- 
pened when  he  inclined  toward  melancholy,  his  religious 
feelings  began  to  assert  themselves.  He  stepped  into 
his  back  room,  where  in  his  capacity  of  secretary  of  tlio 
County  Bible  Society  he  kept  the  Society's  proper tv, 
and  took  down  a  Bible.  He  opened  it  at  random,  as 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  81 

was  his  habit  when  troubled  in  mind  and  in  search  of 
consolation,  and  his  eye  fell  upon  the  following  passage: 

"  Add  to  your  faith  virtue,  and  to  virtue  knowledge, 
and  to  knowledge  temperance,  and  to  temperance  pa- 
tience, and  to  patience  godliness,  and  to  godliness 
brotherly  kindness,  and  to  brotherly  kindness  charity." 

The  Squire  hurriedly  shut  the  book.  "That  sounds 
just  like  Peter,"  said  he,  "puttin'  brotherly  kindness  an' 
charity  above  faith  an'  godliness.  If  he  wasn't  an 
inspired  writer,  I  should  say  he  was  in  the  habit  of  goin' 
off  half-cocked  an'  gettin'  things  wrong  side  before*  I 
wonder  how  it  come  to  open  just  at  that  place?" 

The  Squire  again  allowed  the  Bible  to  open  at  random, 
and  his  eye  fell  upon  this  passage : 

"  But  thine  eye  and  thine  heart  are  not  but  for  thy 
covetousness,  and  for  to  shed  innocent  blood,  and  for 
oppression — " 

The  Squire  closed  the  book  abruptly.  "  That's 
Jeremiah,"  said  he.  "  I  always  did  wonder  why  Jere- 
miah was  forever  down  in  the  dumps  an'  abusin'  the 
Lord's  chosen  people.  'Pears  to  me  my  humble  efforts 
to  seek  the  source  of  ev'ry  consolation  ain't  much  blest 
to-day,  but  I'll  try  again." 


82  The  Jericho  Boad  ; 

The  book  opened  and  the  Squire  read: 

"  And  Nathan  said  unto  David,  <  Thou  art  the  man.' " 

The  Squire  tossed  the  holy  book  across  the  room  with 
such  energy  that  it  went  through  a  window. 

*  Of  course  Nathan  said  so,"  said  he,  "  an'  very  good 
reason  he  had  for  sayin'  it,  too;  but  I  don't  see  what 
that's  got  to  do  with  me.  I  should  think  I'd  been  given 
over  to  the  adversary  to  be  tempted,  an'  that  he'd  just 
stuck  his  finger  in  the  Bible  at  these  places.  But  I've 
no  business  to  get  mad  over  it — ;  resist  the  devil  an'  he'll 
flee  from  you.'  An'  its  wrong  to  treat  God's  holy  word 
with  such  disrespect,  an'  I  deserve  the  punishment  I've 
got  for  it — them  window-lights  cost  nine  cents  apiece  by 
the  box." 

The  Squire  went  into  the  yard,  reverently  picked  up 
the  book,  and  again  seated  himself.  This  time  he 
chanced  upon  the  verse  reading: 

"  So,  then,  every  one  of  us  shall  give  an  account  of 
himself  to  God." 

The  Squire  mused.  "  That's  good,  clear  sense,"  said 
he;  "who  wrote  that?  Paul! — I  might  have  knowed  it — 
Paul  always  had  a  level  head.  I  don't  know  what  would 
become  of  the  church  if  it  wasn't  for  Paul.  '  Every  one 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  83 

shall  give  an  account  of  himself  to  God; '  if  that  means 
anything,  it  means  that  Lem  has  to  be  responsible  for 
his  own  condition;  and  so,  of  course,  it  means  that  I 
haven't  got  anything  to  do  with  it.  I  wish  the  doctor 
was  here  now — I'd  just  like  to  see  him  try  to  get  around 
Paul  with  his  new-fangled  notions.  I  wonder  if  the 
doctor's  really  sound  in  the  faith  himself? — he  got  past 
the  examinin'  committee  more  on  his  face  an'  good  man- 
ners than  on  his  evidences,  I  really  do  believe." 

And  so  musing,  the  Squire  instinctively  turned  to  one 
of  the  impretory  psalms ;  this  he  read  with  great  feeling, 
and  remarked : 

"Ah!  David  was  the  man,  after  all;  he's  the  one  for  a 
troubled  heart  to  go  to.  I  don't  wonder  they  called  him 
the  sweet  singer  ,of  Israel,  and  a  type  of  the  Messiah. 
But  even  now  I  haven't  found  out  how  to  fix  this  matter 
about  Lem  without  its  costin'  me  too  much  money,  or 
else  makin'  bad  feelin'  against  me.  '  The  righteous  shall 
suffer  persecution.' " 


84  The  Jericho  Road  / 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN    WHICH    THE   SQUIKE    ATTEMPTS   STRATEGY. 

THE  Squire  soon  learned  that  to  satisfy  the  public  was 
not  an  easy  task,  for  the  public  was  more  inquisitive  and 
less  under  the  Squire's  control  than  his  own  obedient 
and  obliging  conscience.  The  doctor  had  talked;  that 
is,  having  known  how  powerful  was  the  influence  the 
Squire  could  exert,  and  how  provoked  the  Squire  was 
with  him  for  disturbing  the  status  of  the  Squire's  house- 
hold and  mind — knowing  all  this,  the  doctor  after  recov- 
ering from  the  erratic  attack  of  courage  under  whose 
influence  he  had  addressed  the  Squire  so  plainly,  deter- 
mined to  fortify  himself  against  the  insiduous  attacks 
he  expected.  He  accordingly  told  Bill  Fussell  what  he 
had  done,  and  Bill  told  his  legal  partner.  As  Fussell  & 
.Bull  had  never  been  called  upon  to  assist  the  Squire  in 
the  collection  of  bad  accounts,  there  was  no  business  rea- 
son why  they  should  not  express  honest  opinions  on  the 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  85 

subject  of  the  Squire's  treatment  of  Lem,  and  they  lib- 
erally availed  themselves  of  their  liberty  and  ability  in 
this  respect.  The  doctor  also  unbosomed  himself  to  each 
of  the  Squire's  business  competitors,  and  these  gentle- 
men, in  exchanging  views  with  their  customers,  alluded 
to  the  matter  in  that  painfully  non-committal  manner 
which  is  above  all  others  damaging  to  the  person  spoken 
of.  The  doctor's  patients,  most  of  whom  had  attended 
the  temperance  meeting,  asked  questions,  and  thus  gave 
the  physician  an  opportunity  to  say  wiiat  he  would,  and 
the  doctor  improved  it  in  so  good-tempered,  Christian- 
spirited  a  manner  that  his  remarks  carried  conviction 
with  them.  From  several  different  sources  the  story 
reached  the  Squire's  pastor  on  a  single  day,  and  so  forci- 
bly aroused  that  good  gentleman's  conscience  that  he 
called  upon  his  parishioner  and  administered  some  advice 
and  counsel,  which  were  not  received  in  the  spirit  with 
which  they  were  given. 

For  the  Squire  wras  not  too  blind  to  see  when  the 
period  of  conciliation  was  past.  He  had  always  freely 
admitted,  in  season  and  out  of  season,  that  he  was  con- 
scious of  the  indwelling  of  considerable  Old  Adam, 
which  warred  against  the  spirit;  now,  he  prepared  to 


86  The  Jericho  Road; 

make  a  public  demonstration  thereof.  To  many  of  his 
fellow-townsmen  it  did  not  seem  to  be  the  first  occasion 
on  which  the  Squire  had  manifested  a  spirit  which  he 
could  not  hope  to  carry  with  him  into  the  better  world, 
and  these  persons  hinted  that  the  Squire  was  at  his  old 
ways  again.  The  Squire  interviewed  his  own  lawyer, 
who  speedily  instructed  the  opposition;  the  Squire  also 
laid  his  case  before  his  own  customers,  and  among  these 
there  were  many  who  found  reasons  for  taking  sides  with 
the  old  merchant.  The  case  speedily  supplanted  in  the 
minds,  of  local  politicians  the  famous  Martin  Kozsta  case, 
which  was  then  the  most  popular  question  before  the 
general  public,  and  it  was  argued  with  such  industry 
that  (as  in  the  case  of  Kozsta  himself)  no  one  could  find 
time  to  depart  from  abstract  questions  long  enough  to 
pay  any  attention  to  the  original  cause  of  the  whole  ex- 
citement. 

Lem  grew  steadily  feebler,  as  the  doctor  had  predicted. 
All  his  duties  dragged,  somehow,  though  he  never  seemed 
to  be  idle.  The  Squire  deprived  the  doctor's  party  of  as 
many  arguments  as  possible  by  keeping  his  man  em- 
ployed within  doors,  where  no  one  could  see  what  he  hud 
to  do.  He  even  visited  him  frequently  at  his  work,  car- 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  87 

rying  a  pinch  of  tea  with  him,  or  telling  a  funny  story, 
of  which  latter  kind  of  stimulant  the  Squire  had  accumu- 
lated a  good  supply.  But  still  Lena  grew  paler  and  more 
stoop-shouldered;  finally  he  groaned  from  his  room  one 
morning  that  somehow  he  couldn't  get  up. 

Then  the  Squire  grew  thoroughly  frightened.  He  sat 
by  the  sick  man's  bedside,  and  enquired  anxiously  into 
his  symptoms.  He  was  ashamed  to  call  Dr.  Beers,  and 
dreaded  the  publicity  which  might  ensue  if  he  called  any 
of  the  doctor's  rivals.  Like  most  intelligent  Western 
pioneers,  he  himself  knew  a  little  about  the  medicines 
required  by  certain  physical  conditions.  Medicinally — 
and  medicinally  only — he  had  occasionally  taken  milk 
punch,  with  excellent  results,  and  he  longed  to  give  some 
to  Lem,  but  he  dreaded  the  moral  effect  of  the  discovery 
by  the  patient  of  the  nature  of  the  medicine  adminis- 
tered. Finally,  however,  a  happy  thought  struck  the 
Squire;  he  dropped  a  grain  of  quinine  into  half  a  gill  of 
brandy,  and  by  this  means  and  the  use  of  considerable 
sugar,  prepared  a  draught  whose  principal  constituent 
was  effectively  concealed,  as  he  ascertained  by  personal 
test.  This  dose,  administered  three  times  during  the 
day,  was  so  efficacious  that  Lem  was  able  that  same  even- 


88  The  Jericho  Road; 

ing  to  milk  the  cow  and  carry  in  some  wood.  But  the 
Squire  had  no  notion  of  undergoing  a  similar  fright  a 
second  time;  so  the  next  morning,  calling  Lem  into  his 
presence,  he  said: 

"  Lemuel,  wouldn't  you  like  to  see  your  mother?  " 

Lem  stood  erect  at  once,  and  the  wrinkles  went  out 
of  his  face.  The  Squire  noticed  these  indications  with 
satisfaction,  and  proceeded: 

"  I  thought  you  would;  an'  I've  thought  of  a  way  for 
you  to  do  it  without  its  costin'  you  anything.  Sam 
.Reeves  is  goin'  to  take  a  drove  of  horses  east  this  week, 
an'  he  needs  about  one  man  to  every  five  horses  to  help 
lead  'em.  I  can  get  you  the  job  of  goin'  with  him,  if 
you  like — he's  under  some  obligations  to  me.  The  pay's 
generally  about  twelve  dollars  a  month,  an'  your  board 
on  the  way;  an'  'twon't  cost  you  much  to  get  from  Phil- 
adelphy  or  New  York  to  wherever  your  folks  are." 

Lem's  eyes  filled,  and  he  caught  at  the  Squire's  hand. 
The  good  old  man  was  visibly  affected,  but  he  controlled 
his  emotion  enough  to  remark: 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  so?  Didn't  I  say  that  if  you'd  do 
your  best  I'd  be  your  friend?  Didn't  I  say  I  wouldn't 
lay  it  up  against  you  that  you  got  drunk  once?  I  believe 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  89 

you've  really  tried  to  do  your  best,  an'  I  want  to  see  you 
rewarded  in  just  the  way  that  suits  you  best." 

"  Oh,  it's  just  the  thing! "  exclaimed  Lem. 

"  An'  yet,"  continued  the  Squire,  "  there's  folks  in  this 
town  that  say  I've  abused  you — that  I've  overworked 
you,  that  all  I  cared  for  you  was  to  get  out  of  you  what- 
ever I  could,  an'  then  let  you  shift  for  yourself." 

"They  lie!"  shouted  Lem,  ev'ry  one  of  'em  lies,  an' 
I'll  go  tell  'em  so." 

"Easy,  Lemuel,"  said  the  Squire;  "'taint  right  to 
show  an  angry  sperrit  to  others  when  you're  enjoyin'  the 
mercies  of  heaven  yourself.  I  don't  ask  you  to  say  a 
word  for  me;  it's  my  duty  to  endure  hardness  as  a  good 
soldier  of  Jesus  Christ;  but  if  you  should  find  it  im- 
possible not  to  hold  in  what  you  feel  on  this  subject, 
say  it  coolly,  an'  quietly  an'  firmly,  as  a  man  always 
should  when  he  wants  to  be  believed.  An'  you'd  better 
say  it  soon,  for  there's  no  knowin'  how  quick  Reeves 
may  take  a  notion  to  start — his  horses  are  eatin'  up 
money  every  day." 

Lem  spent  the  time  which  remained  to  him  in  ad- 
dressing every  one  he  met,  and  telling  them  how  good 
the  Squire  had  been  to  him.  So  great  was  his  earnest- 


90  The  Jericho  Road; 

ness  that  some  of  his  late  advocates  were  convinced  that 
their  opposition  to  the  Squire  had  been  foolish.  Others, 
however,  and  among  them  the  doctor,  advised  him  to 
take  the  best  possible  care  of  himself,  saying  that  it  was 
no  easy  work  to  lead  several  horses  who  were  without 
burdens,  and  were  free  to  act  as  contrarily  as  the  spirit 
which  is  charged  with  the  tricks  of  horses  might  inspire 
them  to  do. 

Sam  Reeves  finally  got  ready  to  start;  he  led  his 
whole  line  of  horses  into  the  main  street  of  the  village, 
and  most  of  the  natives  turned  out  to  view  the  proces- 
sion— even  good  Mrs.  Barkum  walked  to  her  husband's 
store  to  gaze  at  the  party.  When  the  crowd  seemed  as 
large  as  it  could  be,  and  Sam  Reeves  emerged  from  Mich- 
am's  grocery  to  take  command,  the  Squire  rushed  into 
the  road  with  a  small  shawl  in  one  hand  and  a  diminu- 
tive white  paper  package  in  the  other.  lie  approached 
Lem,  who  was  tugging  at  a  line  to  which  several  play- 
ful horses  were  haltered,  and  exclaimed  in  quite  a  loud 
tone: 

"  Here,  Lem — you'll  find  it  pretty  cold  sometimes  at 
night — you'd  better  carry  this  shawl  to  tie  around  your 
neck;  it  won't  cost  you  anything.  An'  here,"  said  the 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  91 

Squire,  dropping  his  voice,  "is  a  pocket  testament — 
I'm  afraid  you  haven't  thought  to  pervide  yourself 
with  one.  Let  it  be  a  lamp  to  your  feet  an'  a  light 
to  your  pathway,  an'  may  its  precious  truths  make  you 
wise  unto  salvation.  Remember  you've  got  a  friend 
above — in  him  is  no  variableness  or  shadow  of  turnin'. 
Seek  him  while  he  may  be  found;  draw  nigh  unto  him, 
while  he " 

"TKOT!"  roared  Sam  Reeves  from  the  head  of  the 
column.  The  horse  in  advance  started,  and  the  others 
followed;  the  leading-rope  of  Lem's  line  struck  the  good 
Squire  on  the  shoulders  and  propelled  him  violently 
forward;  a  particularly  merry  horse  snafcched  and  pro- 
ceeded to  masticate  the  Squire's  straw  hat,  another  horse 
gave  him  an  admonitory  lift  with  his  foot,  the  Squire 
fell;  there  was  for  a  moment  a  confused  mass  of  horse's 
feet,  Squires  and  dust  clouds,  and  as  the  venerable  ex- 
horter  regained  his  feet  and  hurried  into  the  store,  he 
heard  the  populace  respond  heartily  to  the  proposition, 
"  Three  cheers  for  Lem !" 

"  Not  a  word  about  Lem's  only  friend,  of  course,"  said 
the  Squire  spitefully,  as  he  reached  for  a  clothes-brush. 
"  That's  all  the  thanks  a  man  gets  in  this  world  for  doin' 


92  The  Jericho  Road; 

good.     But  say,  Marg'ret,  there  ain't  no  danger  of  his 
dyin'  on  our  hands  now,  is  there?" 

And  Mrs.  •  Barkum  responded,  "  No  indeed — 'pears 
like  a  reel  Providential  interposition,  this  hoss-tradin' 
trip  of  Sam  Reeves's." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  93 


CHAPTEE   X. 

DR.    BEERS   GOES   HUNTING,   WITH   UNEXPECTED  RESULTS. 

FOR  a  few  days  after  the  departure  of  the  horse-party, 
some  of  the  Mount  Zion  gossips  tried  hard  to  maintain 
the  old  interest  in  the  subject  of  the  Squire's  treatment 
of  Lem  Pankett.  They  were  unsuccessful,  however;  the 
cause  having  departed,  every  one's  conscience  felt  easier. 
Lem  was  now  beyond  their  reach,  for  either  good  or  bad, 
so  practical  folks  declared  it  was  of  no  use  to  talk  about 
him,  while  religious  people,  mentally  confiding  Lem  to 
the  care  of  the  Father  of  all,  felt  that  they  had  done 
their  full  duty,  and  rested  peacefully  under  the  influ- 
ence of  conscience  void  of  offense. 

Perhaps  the  decline  of  interest  in  the  case  of  Pankett 
vs.  Barkum  was  partially  due  to  a  new  cause  of  excite- 
ment which  had  been  growing  with  a  rapidity  quite 
alarming  to  owners  of  a  certain  sort  of  property. 
Railroads  and  telegraph  lines  being  unknown  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Mount  Zion,  that  virtuous  town  and 


94  The  Jericho  Road ; 

its  suburbs  became  a  very  Paradise  for  horse-thieves. 
This,  in  a  country  whose  inhabitants  were  almost 
entirely  dependent  upon  horses  for  the  service  done 
elsewhere  by  general  machinery,  was  a  state  of  affairs 
not  to  be  regarded  with  equanimity.  The  thieves  were 
numerous,  active,  quick  in  their  livestock  transactions, 
and  quicker  with  their  pistols;  they  frequently  intimi- 
dated or  bought  up  sheriffs,  and  they  were  occasionally 
suspected  of  having  justices  in  league  with  them,  so 
some  of  the  most  determined  horse-owners  in  each 
county  formed  secret  societies,  every  member  of  which 
was  sworn  to  chase,  at  a  moment's  notice,  any  horse- 
thief  of  whom  information  could  be  obtained,  and  to  act 
as  judge,  jury  and  executioner,  in  case  he  found  the 
suspected  person  with  the  missing  animal  in  his  pos- 
session. "Who  the  members  of  these  societies  were  was 
seldom  known  except  to  the  members  themselves;  they 
sometimes  went  in  masks,  to  hide  themselves  even  from 
their  own  neighbors,  and  the  same  masks  were  never 
used  twice  in  succession.  Between  the  societies  of 
neighboring  counties  there  often  existed  signal-codes, 
and  unwritten  extradition  and  reciprocity  treaties;  sus- 
pected characters  were  passed  at  night,  under  guard,  to 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  95 

the  headquarters  of  whatever  county  they  were  supposed 
to  have  come  from,  for  all  these  "  Regulators  "  professed 
to  be  and  generally  were  law-respecting  citizens,  and 
conceded  to  every  suspected  person  the  legal  right  to 
be  tried  in  the  locality  in  which  the  offense  was 
committed. 

Dr.  Beers  himself  was  a  member  of  the  band  which 
looked  after  the  interests  of  horse-owners  in  the  vicinity 
of  Mount  Zion,  but  it  was  not  upon  judicial  deeds  in- 
tent that  the  doctor  rode  out  of  town  one  afternoon,  with 
his  rifle  resting  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle.  The  doc- 
tor was  an  original  thinker,  with  a  greater  fondness  for 
demonstration  than  is  noticeable  in  all  thinkers;  he  was 
also  an  enthusiastic  sportsman,  and  on  this  particular 
occasion  he  was  going  to  test  a  new  theory.  In  an  ad- 
joining county  he  had  shot  deer  in  a  piece  of  woods  not 
far  from  a  spring,  shaded  by  a  large  oak;  he  had  done 
"fire-shooting"  near  springs  elsewhere;  if  he  rightly 
remembered  the  configuration  of  the  ground,  it  was  like- 
ly that  what  was  called  "  Big  Oak  Spring  "  was  the  only 
place  near  by  where  deer  would  be  likely  to  find  water. 
They  would  not  be  likely  to  visit  it  by  daylight,  for  the 
spring  was  in  open  ground,  at  least  two  hundred  yards 


96  The  Jericho  Road; 

from  tlie  edge  of  the  forest;  therefore,  they  must  come 
at  night— at  any  rate,  the  doctor  was  going  to  test  the 
matter  to  his  own  satisfaction.  He  even  disdained  the 
use  of  the  "  light  "  or  "  fire  "  which  was  generally  used 
to  decoy  the  animals,  the  big  oak  was  hollow,  the  open- 
ing being  toward  the  spring;  he  could  therefore  remain 
entirely  hidden,  and  pick  off  his  game  at  leisure.  So 
great  was  the  doctor's  anxiety,  that  he  started  two  or 
three  hours  earlier  than  was  necessary;  he  therefore  tied 
his  horse  in  the  woods,  at  a  safe  distance,  crept  into  the 
tree,  drew  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  soon  was  enjoying 
that  repose  which  physicians  of  large  practice  know  how 
to  obtain  whenever  they  have  an  hour  or  two  at  their 
disposal. 

When  the  doctor  awoke  he  found  it  had  grown  quite 
dark,  but  the  air  about  him  was  not  so  quiet  as  was  nat- 
ural to  an  empty  field  under  the  starlight.  The  doctor's 
senses  were  alert  at  once,  and  he  soon  heard  human 
voices  and  saw  shadowy  forms  standing  and  sitting  about. 
The  doctor's  prudence  restrained  him  from  emerging  at 
once,  and  he  puzzled  his  brain  to  know  who  the  men 
might  be.  Fire-hunters?  That  would  be  a  shame;  be- 
sides there  were  too  many  of  them — two,  or  three  men  at 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  97 

most,  were  as  many  as  ever  composed  a  fire-hunting 
party.  Emigrants  ?  Perhaps ;  they  certainly  had  horses 
tied  in  the  edge  of  the  timber,  yet  emigrants  always  had 
wagons,  and  fastened  their  horses  near  them ;  emigrants 
made  fires,  too,  but  the  doctor  could  neither  see  a  fire, 
nor  the  reflection  of  the  light  from  one,  nor  smell  the 
burning  wood,  which  latter  he  could  surely  have  done 
if  any  had  been  burning.  Besides,  emigrants  were  not 
in  the  habit  of  standing  listlessly  about.  Drovers?  The 
doctor  could  neither  hear  nor  see  any  cattle.  Soldiers? 
The  Mexican  war  had  just  ended,  and  small  parties  of 
discharged  Illinoisans  and  Indianians  had  frequently 
passed  through  Mount  Zion  on  their  way  to  their  homes, 
but  whenever  the  doctor  had  observed  these  brave  fellows 
in  bivouac,  not  a  man  could  he  see  in  a  vertical 
position — they  were  either  stretched  upon  the  ground, 
or  seated  in  a  position  which  seemed  to  indicate  that 
the  principal  duty  of  a  veteran  was  to  embrace 
and  tenderly  cherish  his  own  knees.  Horse-thieves? 
The  doctor  cast  an  agonized  thought  toward  his  own 
trusty  animal,  contracted  himself  into  the  smallest  possi- 
ble limits,  and  grasped  his  rifle.  The  doctor  was  not  a 
coward;  he  had  once— not  intentionally — had  a  hand-to- 
5 


98  The  Jericho  Road ; 

hand  difficulty  with  a  panther,  just  after  discharging  his 
rifle  at  a  deer  upon  which  the  panther,  watching  from  a 
tree  over  his  head,  had  designs,  and  the  panther's  skin 
now  ornamented  the  doctor's  office.  But  between  a  sin- 
gle panther  and  a  dozen  or  more  horse-thieves  the  doctor 
quite  sensibly  made  a  distinction,  with  the  odds  in  favor 
of  the  thieves.  If  he  only  had  one  of  those  pistols — • 
new-fashioned  they  were  then,  and  Eastern  newspapers 
called  them  revolvers — if  he  only  had  one — or  two,  or 
three — of  these,  what  a  record  he  might  make  for  him- 
self— what  a  splendid  practical  education  in  bullet- 
wounds  he  might  speedily  enjoy — what  an  unparalleled 
opportunity  for  dissection!  The  doctor  was  religious, 
but  he  had  a  theory  that  all  sins  could  be  traced  to 
physical  conditions;  the  worse  the  sinner,  the  more 
abnormal  must  be  the  status  of  his  vital  organs — conse- 
quently, what  a  contribution  to  the  cause  of  pathological 
science  he  might  make,  could  he  only  freely  examine  the 
interiors  of  a  dozen  or  twenty  horse-thieves! 

The  men  still  stood  aimlessly  about;  the  doctor  heard 
their  voices,  but  could  not  distinguish  their  words.  One 
of  them  approached  the  tree — what  if  he  should  attempt 
to  enter  it?  Why  hadn't  the  doctor  thought  of  this 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  99 

before?  He  himself  had  on  his  oldest  clothes;  he  might 
have  quietly  stepped  out  into  the  shadow  of  the  tre^, 
strolled  carelessly  toward  the  wood  as  if  he  were  one  of 
the  party,  made  a  detour  to  the  spot  where  his  own  horse 
was  fastened,  galloped  across  the  county  line,  not  more 
than  a  mile  distant,  alarmed  his  brother-Regulators, 
approached  this  gang  and  captured  or — yes/  killed — 
killed  some  of  them,  and  been  at  once  the  greatest  hero 
of  both  counties.  Oh!  if  that  approaching  man  would 
only  be  guided  away  from  the  hollow  of  the  tree! — the 
doctor  did  not  hesitate  to  pray  earnestly  on  the  subject. 

The  man  passed  the  tree,  and  the  doctor  prepared  to 
emerge.  As  it  was  dark,  and  the  doctor  was  a  bit  of  a 
sentimentalist,  he  was  not  ashamed  to  kiss  the  cold 
barrel  of  his  darling  old  rifle — he  might  never  see  it 
again. 

The  doctor  peered  cautiously  out,  and  as  suddenly 
withdrew  his  head,  for  he  heard  a  shrill  double  whistle, 
three  times  repeated,  and  apparently  from  the  road. 
The  signal  was  immediately  answered  by  some  one  near 
the  tree,  who  twice  uttered  a  treble  whistle.  Then  the 
doctor  understood  that  the  men  about  him  were  "  Regu- 
lators," assembled  for  judicial  and  punitive  duty,  and 


100  The  Jericho  Road ; 

that  the  prisoner  was  being  brought  into  their  presence. 
"Whether  to  identify  himself,  which  he  could  do  by 
signal,  or  to  be  a  secret  spectator,  the  doctor  scarcely 
knew  for  a  moment.  He  determined  upon  the  latter, 
but  the  men  massed  themselves  under  a  portion  of  the 
tree  which  the  hollow  could  not  command,  so  the  doctor 
was  compelled  to  be  satisfied  with  being  a  listener. 


A  Story  of  Wastwn,  Life.  \  Jjfti. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


"GoT  him?"  asked  a  man  who  leaned  against  the 
trunk  of  the  tree. 

"Sure  enough,  Major,"  replied  the  man  addressed, 
"  but  he's  a  queer  case." 

"How?"  asked  the  Major. 

"He  acts  as  if  he  was  looney — if  he  isn't  playin' 
possum  right  up  to  the  handle,  then  he  is  a  fool,  as  sure 
as  my  name  is  Blizzer,"  said  the  man. 

"Trot  him  up,"  said  the  Major.  "Two  heads  are 
better  than  one,  so  of  course  eighteen  or  twenty  heads 
are  better  yet.  Let's  talk  it  over  together." 

The  man  stepped  out  to  the  road,  and  in  a  moment 
returned,  followed  by  three  men  on  horseback,  riding 
abreast;  the  man  in  the  center  had  his  feet  tied  together 
under  his  saddle,  and  his  hands  tied  behind  him.  The 
men  beside  him  held,  each  one,  a  horse  pistol. 


The,  Jezicho  Road  ; 

"  Order  in  court! "  proclaimed  the* Major.  "  Show  the 
prisoner  and  the  evidence." 

Two  men  stuck  balls  of  candle-wick  upon  sharp  sticks, 
poured  turpentine  upon  them,  and  lighted  them;  one 
then  stood  in  front  of  the  prisoner's  horse  and  the  other 
behind  him.  The  other  men  crowded  close,  and  looked 
curiously  at  the  horse. 

"  Show  light  both  sides  !"  exclaimed  the  Major,  upon 
which  the  men  with  lights  changed  their  position  so  that 
light  fell  upon  both  sides  of  the  horse.  Suddenly  one 
man  detached  himself  from  the  crowd  and  whispered  to 
the  Major.  That  functionary  coughed,  and  exclaimed: 

""Wait  a  minute,  gentlemen — I  forgot  something. 
Take  off  your  hats — hold  up  your  right  hands.  You  do 
solemnly  swear,  in  the  presence  of  Almighty  God  and 
these  witnesses,  to  try  this  case  without  fear  or  favor, 
and  strictly  in  accordance  with  the  evidence  ?  Now." 

The  men  replaced  their  hats,  and  again  examined  the 
horse. 

"  Its  Garman's  horse,"  said  one  man,  "  I  know  him  by 
the  way  the  white  works  up  in  front  of  that  off  fore- 
foot." 

"  An'  I  know  it,"  said  another  man,  looking  at  one  of 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  103 

the  horse's  shoulders,  "by  that  double  collar-gall.  Its 
the  only  double  collar-gall  I  ever  saw — Garman  ought  to 
lose  a  horse  for  usin'  such  infernally  rough  collars." 

"  Anything  else?"  asked  the  Major. 

One  man  smoothed  one  of  the  horse's  hind  feet,  and 
exclaimed: 

"  See  how  he  gives  a  little  lift  an'  shake  of  his  foot 
every  time  I  do  that?  Garman  showed  me  how  he  did 
just  that  same  thing,  an'  asked  me  what  I  s'posed  was 
the  matter  with  him  to  make  him  do  it." 

"Its  the  hoss,"  said  one  man,  dropping  back  with 
every  outward  sign  of  satisfactory  assurance;  several 
others  nodded  and  fell  back. 

"Lets  see  his  eyes,"  said  another;  "Garman's  was 
wall-eyed — yes,  so  is  this  one." 

"Did  Garman's  have  any  saddle-chafes?"  asked  the 
Major. 

"  No,"  said  the  man  who  had  expressed  his  mind 
about  Garman's  horse-collars;  "his  collars  ain't  fit  for  a 
dog,  for  his  saddle  fits  like  a  blanket." 

"  Take  off  the  saddle  and  the  prisoner,  and  let's  see," 
said  the  Major. 

The  prisoner  was  untied  and  lifted    off.      He    fell 


104:  The  Jericho  Road ; 

instantly  upon  the  ground,  while  the  guards  covered  him 
with  their  pistols.  The  saddle  was  removed,  and  the 
men  again  crowded  near. 

"  There's  no  chafe  jet,"  said  a  man,  who  felt  the  skin 
over  the  horse's  back-bone  just  behind  the  shoulder, 
"  but  there  will  be  soon;  this  saddle  must  be  hollowed 
out  of  a  log." 

"Has  anybody  any  doubts  about  the  horse?"  asked 
the  Major. 

No  one  replied. 

"Now  show  up  the  prisoner,  then,"  said  the  Major. 
(The  order  of  proceedings  had  been  in  strict  accordance 
with  the  ways  of  new  "Western  counties,  for  in  any  one 
of  them  a  horse  is  held  in  far  higher  regard  than  a  man.) 

"  Stand  up,"  said  one  of  the  guards,  shaking  the  pris- 
oner's shoulder.  "  Confound  it,"  growled  the  guard, 
"  that's  just  the  way  he's  acted  ever  since  we  got  him." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  was  looney?  "  asked  Blizzer. 

"Pour  a  little  whisky  in  his  mouth,  somebody," 
suggested  the  Major.  "  Perhaps  he's  tuckered  out;  even 
horse-thieves  get  that  way  sometimes,  I  s'pose." 

The  whisky  was  administered;  some  of  it  found  its 
way  into  the  prisoner's  nostrils,  and  made  him  cough 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  105 

violently.  This  disturbance  seemed  to  revive  him  some- 
what, and  he  was  able  to  remain  on  his  feet  after  being 
assisted  to  rise. 

"  Any  one  ever  seen  him  before? "  asked  the  Major. 

"  No,"  said  some  one,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "  an'  / 
don't  want  to  again.  He's  more  fit  for  a  graveyard 
openin'  than  for  anything  else,  even  hoss-stealin'." 

He  was  a  miserable,  insignificant  looking  object. 
Small,  thin,  flat-chested  and  stoop-shouldered,  yet  his 
eyes  were  very  bright. 

"Prisoner,"  said  the  Major,  "you  are  charged  with 
stealing  a  horse  from  a  man  named  Garman,  living  in 
this  county.  The  horse  is  found  in  your  possession. 
What  have  you  got  to  say  for  yourself  ? " 

The  prisoner  opened  his  eyes  and  mouth,  and  drawled 
out,  as  if  soliloquizing: 

"  Just  a  floatin'  along  lovely,  as  if  there  wasn't  ever 
any  such  thing  as  trouble  in  the  world.  I  wish  every- 
body I  knowed  could  be  so  happy." 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Blizzer,  spinning  about 
on  his  heels  and  appealing  to  every  one. 

"  Playing  crazy  is  a  losin'  game  here,  prisoner,"  said 
the  Major.  "  We've  seen  it  played  before." 


106  The  Jericho  Road; 

"Play?"  exclaimed  the  prisoner.  "Oh,  it's  just  like 
as  if  I  was  a  little  boy  again,  'fore  I  ever  knowed  what 
trouble  was.  I  feel  just  as  happy  as  if  I  was  playin'  all 
the  time." 

"Show  him  the  rope,"  growled  some  one  in  the 
Major's  ear — "  that'll  bring  out  the  truth  if  he's  try  in' 
to  gum  us." 

"  The  evidence  is  all  against  you,  prisoner,"  said  the 
Major,  sternly,  "  and  there's  only  one  punishment.  Say 
your  prayers.  Men,  do  your  duty." 

The  guards  lifted  the  prisoner  upon  the  horse,  still 
unsaddled;  the  prisoner  was  seated  with  his  back  to  the 
horse's  head.  The  prisoner  was  humming  a  tune  softly, 
when  his  eye  caught  sight  of  a  rope  which  was  being 
thrown  across  a  bough  of  the  tree.  He  stared  and 
stopped  humming;  he  looked  about  him  with  a  start,  as 
if  awaking  from  a  sleep,  and  screamed: 

"Mother!" 

Half  a  dozen  double  whistles  shrilly  uttered,  pierced 
the  air.  Every  one  started  and  into  the  midst  of  the 
crowd  burst  the  doctor. 

"Excuse  me  gentlemen  —  I'm  Doctor  Beers  —  next 
county.  Lem — Lem,  you  poor  old  fellow,  what  does  all 
this  mean?" 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  107 

Lem  did  not  answer;  lie  had  already  fallen  from  the 
horse.  The  doctor  was  by  his  side  in  an  instant,  and 
had  his  finger  on  Lem's  pulse. 

"  Show  light  here  a  moment?"  asked  the  doctor.  Both 
men  with  lights  approached  the  doctor,  and  so  did  every 
one  else.  The  doctor  looked  into  Lem's  half-opened 
eyes,  observed  his  face  closely,  and  finally  exclaimed : 

"  I  know  this  man  well,  gentlemen,  and  don't  believe 
there's  a  more  harmless  person  in  the  world.  The  trouble 
with  him  now  is  that  he  is  almost  dead.  He  has  a  severe 
malarial  fever,  and  is  delirious  under  its  influence,  and 
this  shock  will  probably  take  him  off.  I  do  wish  I'd 
come  out  of  that  tree  in  time  to  prevent  it,  but  I  had  no 
idea  who  your  prisoner  was,  and  I  didn't  wish  to  in- 
trude." 

"  That's  all  very  well,  doctor,"  said  the  Major,  "  but 
what  we  want  to  know  is,  how  did  he  get  Garman's 
horse?" 

"  Wait  until  he  gets  well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  you 
can  probably  find  out — you  certainly  can't  while  he's  in 
this  condition.  I  know  his  constitution,  gentlemen. 
Weeks  ago  I  warned  his  employer  that  he  would  die 
soon  if  he  wasn't  better  cared  for.  He  may  die  now, 
within  ten  minutes — in  fact,  it'll  be  strange  if  he  don't." 


108  The  Jericho  Road; 

"  And  not  confess  or  tell  who  else  is  in  his  gang?"  ex- 
claimed the  Major.  "  Thunder!  try  the  whisky  on  him 
again,  boys — that'll  bring  him  to  long  enough  to  own 
up  or  explain." 

The  man  with  the  whisky-bottle  approached;  the 
doctor  snatched  the  bottle  and  threw  it  away.  An  angry 
murmur  ran  through  the  crowd;  and  several  sets  of 
earnest  arguments  began  at  once,  when  suddenly  every 
sound  was  hushed  by  a  deep  voice  which  exclaimed: 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  that  man? " 

Everybody  looked  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
voice  came,  and  they  beheld  a  large  man  on  a  large 
horse.  The  man  seemed  to  be  a  stranger,  for  no  one 
greeted  him  by  name;  every  one  seemed  to  be  busy 
wondering  how  he  had  approached  without  being  heard. 

""What  are  you  doing  to  that  man?"  the  stranger 
repeated. 

The  Major  threw  up  his  hat-brim  a  little  way,  folded 
his  arms,  and  said: 

"  I  don't  know  as  its  any  of  your  business,  but  we  like 
to  be  accommodating.  "We  were  about  to  hang  him  for 
stealing  Garman's  horse,  but  he  seems  to  have  fainted. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  109 

"We  thought  we'd  like  to  find  out  first,  though,  how  he 
came  by  the  animal." 

"  Well,  /  can  tell  you  that,"  said  the  stranger.  "  He 
was  turned  off  by  Sam  Reeves  a  couple  of  days  ago  for 
being  used  up,  an'  not  fit  to  lead  horses,  an'  he  was 
tryin'  to  walk  back  to  Mount  Zion,  where  he  had  friends. 
I  met  him  on  the  road,  an'  he  was  the  most  pitiful  sight 
I  ever  did  see,  all  burnin'  up  with  fever.  I  hadn't  any 
time  to  lose,  but  every  once  in  a  while  he'd  quit  what- 
ever he  was  say  in'  an'  cry  out  'Mother!'  in  a  way  that 
went  right  through  me.  I've  got  a  mother  myself, 
an'  his  hollerin'  was  too  much  for  me,  so  I  got  off  my 
hoss,  an'  helped  him  onto  him,  an'  told  -him  to  ride  to 
Mount  Zion  as  fast  as  the  Lord  would  let  him." 

"And  where  did  you  get  Garman's  horse,  may  I 
enquire?"  said  the  Major. 

The  stranger  gathered  his  bridle-reins  tightly,  turned 
his  horse's  head  a  trifle,  shouted  "  Stole  him !  "  and  gal- 
loped off. 

Every  one  stared,  except  the  Major;  but  that  gentle- 
man snatched  a  pistol  from  one  of  the  guards  and  fired; 
the  horse-thief  groaned  and  fell  from  his  horse.  The 
Regulators  abandoned  Lem,  and  the  doctor  followed  them, 


110  The  Jericho  Road ; 

thinking,  perhaps,  that  an  ever-kind  Providence  was 
about  to  compensate  him  for  that  disappointment  about 
examining  bullet- wounds  and  dissecting  horse- thieves. 

"  I'm  a  goner!"  gasped  the  thief;  "but  'tain't  as  bad 
as  it  might  have  been,  if  I  hadn't  saved  that  poor  little 
cuss." 

The  doctor  examined  the  man's  wounds,  but  the  Major 
scrutinized  the  backs  of  the  desperado's  hands,  and  then 
removed  his  hat  and  looked  curiously  at  his  left  temple. 

"It's  Bill  Hixton,  boys!"  he  exclaimed.  "Every 
mark's  according  to  description.  I  guess  we  haven't 
made  such  a  bad  night's  work,  after  all." 

An  hour  later  Bill  Hixton,  who  the  doctor  thought 
might  recover,  was  safe  in  the  county  jail;  while  the 
doctor,  unable  to  borrow  a  horse  from  any  one,  took  Lein 
on  his  own  and  walked,  leading  the  horse,  to  Mount 
Zion. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  Ill 


CHAPTEE    XII. 

THE   RIGHTEOUS    SHALL    SUFFEK    PERSECUTION. 

THE  morning  sun  shone  brightly  into  Mrs.  Barknm's 
tidy  kitchen,  and  its  cheery  influence  was  materially 
assisted  by  the  blazing  fire,  which  a  sharp  November 
morning  necessitated  in  the  large  fire-place.  Wood  was 
cheap  at  Mount  Zion;  even  the  most  dilatory  of  the 
Squire's  debtors  were  willing  to  reduce  their  accounts  by 
depositing  cord- wood  in  the  Squire's  back-yard,  and  the 
fire-place  was  wide  enough  to  receive  the  wood  in 
the  lengths  in  which  it  was  delivered.  At  one  side  of 
the  fire-place  stooped  Mrs.  Barkum,  frying  sausages,  and 
occasionally  looking  into  a  Dutch  oven,  from  which 
came  an  odor  of  corn-bread,  not  unmixed  with  that  of 
saleratus;  at  the  other  side  sat  the  Squire,  who,  while 
waiting  for  his  breakfast,  was  improving  the  fleeting 
moments  by  perusing  the  family  Bible.  Both  seemed 
too  busily  engaged  to  enter  into  conversation,  but  finally 
the  Squire  remarked: 


112  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

"  Marg'ret,  I  sometimes  think  we're  never  half  thank- 
ful enough  that  things  ain't  as  they  used  to  be  in  the 
time  of  Christ." 

Mrs.  Barkum  paused  in  the  act  of  turning  a  fine 
juicy  sausage;  she  stared  at  the  Squire  so  steadily  that 
the  sausage  glided  gently  off  her  fork  into  the  fire,  as 
the  good  old  woman  exclaimed: 

"Squire,  what  on  earth  do  you  mean?  I  hope  you 
ain't  backslidin'." 

"  Oh,  Marg'ret,"  groaned  the  Squire,  "  of  course  T 
ain't  You  must  have  got  out  of  the  wrong  side  of  the 
bed  this  mornin'.  I've  just  been  readin'  about  the  man 
that  went  down  from  Jerusalem  unto  Jericho,  rai' 
fell " 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Barkum,  "I  didn't  understand  you. 
You  might  have  put  it  plainer,  though,  an'  not  give  me 
such  a  fright.  That  was  the  very  biggest  one  of  them 
sassigcs,  too." 

"Can't  you  save  it  yet,  for  Lem?"  said  the  Squire. 
"Sho!  I  keep  forgettin' he  ain't  here  no  more.  Poor 
feller — I  hope  he'll  find  his  Saviour  before  he  dies.  But 
just  think  how  'twould  be  if  a  man  couldn't  go  between 
towns  nowadays  without  bein'  robbed.  Business  mu>t 
have  been  mighty  uncertain  in  those  days." 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  113 

"Like  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum,  hastily  withdraw- 
ing from  the  coals  the  coffee-pot,  which, was  boiling 
over. 

"  Human  nature  was  meaner  then  than  'tis  now,  too," 
continued  the  Squire.  "Think  of  that  priest  an'  Levite 
lettin'  that  poor  fellow  suffer,  when  it  only  cost  the  good 
Samaritan  a  penny  to  relieve  his  necessity.  To  be  sure 
I've  heard  ministers  explain  that  the  penny  of  those  days 
was  as  good  as  thirty  cents  now,  but  I  wouldn't  have 
grudged  thirty  cents  to  keep  a  man  out  of  trouble,  'pears 
to  me." 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum,  as  she  pro- 
ceeded to  put  the  breakfast  on  the  table.  "Think  of 
how  much  you  done  for  Lem." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Squire,  "  but  I  got  my  reward.  Think 
of  what  'twould  have  cost  me  if  he  died  on  my  hands — 
we  can  never  be  thankful  enough  that  we  was  saved  from 
that.  Let's  ask  a  blessin'." 

The  two  old  heads  bowed  reverently,  and  then  were 
suddenly  uplifted,  for  a  hand  was  heard  at  the  door-latch. 
A  second  later  the  door  opened,  and  Lem  staggered  in 
and  dropped  into  a  chair  by  the  fire-place. 

The  Squire   sprang  up   and  groaned;    Mrs.  Barkum 


114:  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

turned  in  her  chair  and  sighed.  The  Squire  soon  recov- 
ered sufficiently  from  his  surprise  to  sternly  exclaim: 

"  Lemuel!  what  does  this  mean?  " 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  was  goin'  to  die,"  Lem  feebly  replied. 

Then  Mrs.  Barkum  arose  and  exclaimed: 

"  Squire,  somethin'  must  be  done  at  once! " 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Barkum,"  said  Lem.  "  I  need  it, 
I  do  assure  you." 

"  You're  a — "  began  Mrs.  Barkum,  when  her  husband 
interrupted  her  by  saying  hurriedly: 

"  This  way  a  minute,  Marg'ret." 

The  venerable  couple  stepped  into  an  adjoining  room, 
and  looked  each  other  squarely  in  the  face.  The  good 
Squire's  face  was  full  of  trouble,  and  his  wife's  was  full 
of  anger. 

"  He  ain't  to  die  here,  anyhow,"  gasped  Mrs.  Barkum 
at  last. 

"  Of  course  he  ain't,"  whispered  the  Squire;  "but  let's 
think  up  some  way  to  manage  it  decently." 

"  I've  been  a-promisin'  for  better  'n  five  year  to  go  see 
my  sister  at  Evansville,  an'  now  mv  heart's  set  on  goin' 
by  this  mornin's  stage,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum.  "  The 
washin's  done,  and  I  can  get  ready  in  half  an  hour." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  115 

"You're  a  good  wife,  Marg'ret,"  said  the  Squire  with 
great  earnestness.  " '  The  heart  of  her  husband  doth 
safely  trust  in  her!'  as  the  good  book  says.  Wait  a 
minute — he  must  have  money  by  him  yet — I'll  go  right 
out  an'  look  for  a  boardin'  place  for  him.  Ben  Ringsell 
takes  boarders  cheap,  an'  its  our  duty  to  see  that  Lena 
don't  pay  more  than  he'd  ought  to." 

"  Mebbe  he  hain't  got  enough  money  to  take  care  of 
him  till — till  he  finds  out  whether  he  lives,  an'  then 
they'll  come  down  on  you  for  it,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum. 

The  Squire  smiled  condescendingly.  "  That's  all  you 
women  know  about  business,"  said  he.  "You  don't 
s'pose  /engage  his  board,  do  you?  I'll  tell  'em  he  wants 
to  get  a  boardin'  place,  as  he's  pretty  poorly,  an'  that 
he's  got  the  money  to  pay  for  it.  I'll  just  see  if  he's 
got  it,  though." 

The  Squire  learned  that  Lem  still  had  some  money. 
He  explained  that  Mrs.  Barkum  had  arranged  to  go  to 
Evansville  by  the  stage  of  that  morning;  he  was  author- 
ized by  Lem  to  engage  board  for  him,  he  engaged  the 
board  accordingly,  and  moved  Lem  to  his  new  quarters 
with  such  celerity  that  when,  at  noon,  Dr.  Beers  called 
to  see  his  patient,  he  found  the  house  tightly  locked, 


116  The  Jericho  Road ; 

and  was  obliged  to  drive  to  the  Squire's  store  for  further 
information. 

"  No,"  said  the  Squire,  "  he  isn't  a  pauper,  an'  he's  got 
a  spirit  of  his  own.  He's  got  money  in  his  pocket,  an' 
he's  man  enough  to  want  to  take  care  of  himself.  Grit, 
doctor — didn't  I  tell  you  so,  months  ago." 

"When  the  doctor's  story  of  Lem's  narrow  escape  went 
the  rounds,  Mount  Zion  was  worked  up  to  a  fever  heat 
of  feeling.  The  Squire's  pastor  alluded  to  the  matter  in 
prayer-meeting,  and  made  it  the  subject  of  a  powerful 
discourse  upon  special  interpositions  of  Providence. 
Ben  Ringsell's  daughter  was  summoned  to  the  front 
door  one  morning,  to  receive  for  the  sick  man  an  elegant 
sponge-cake,  sent  by  Mrs.  Berrington,  who  was  so  aristo- 
cratic that  she  kept  two  servants.  On  the  same  day  the 
town  butcher  called  with  steak  enough  to  feed  a  large 
family;  'twas  for  the  sick  man,  he  said,  and  'twas  all 
tenderloin,  too.  The  teacher  of  the  girls'  Bible  class  in 
the  Sunday  School  attached  to  the  Squire's  own  church — 
a  refined,  sensitive  woman — sent  Lem  a  bottle  of  Florida 
Water,  which  was  then  the  rarest  perfumery  known  at 
the  Mount  Zion  drug  store.  Ijam  Fielder,  a  good-for- 
nothing  mulatto,  who  spent  most  of  his  time  hunting, 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  117 

left  a  splendid  assortment  of  game  for  Lem,  with  the  word 
that  whenever  Lem  would  like  to  hear  a  fiddle  played  by 
a  man  that  knew  how,  he  would  like  to  be  sent  for. 
Saintly  old  Aunty  Bates,  who,  with  a  slender  purse  but  a 
great  warm  heart,  managed  to  help  every  one  who  was 
in  trouble,  went  straightway  to  work  to  knit  Lem  some 
warm  stockings  to  wear  when  he  recovered,  as  she  hoped 
and  prayed  he  might.  The  Smith  girls,  who  alone  among 
the  Mount  Zion  ladies  boasted  that  they  never  worked, 
compounded  a  custard  with  their  own  fair  hands,  and 
delivered  it  in  person,  lest  its  appearance  should  be 
marred  by  a  careless  bearer.  And  one  evening  Dr.  Beers 
was  closely  questioned  by  Micham,  keeper  of  the  liquor 
shop,  and  had  pressed  upon  him,  for  Lem's  especial  use 
and  benefit,  a  flask  of  brandy,  which  Micham  declared 
could  not  be  equalled  west  of  the  Alleghanies. 


118  The  Jericho  Road ; 


CHAPTEE    XIII. 

PRIESTS   AND   LEVITES. 

DURING  the  fortnight  in  which  it  seemed  doubtful 
whether  Lem  Pankett  would  recover,  he  was  the  princi- 
pal subject  of  conversation  at  Mount  Zion,  and  every 
one  agreed  that  the  Squire  displayed  his  naturally  mean 
spirit  by  not  taking  the  sick  man  in  his  own  house,  and 
seeing  to  it  that  he  was  decently  buried.  Every  one 
told  every  one  else  what  they  would  have  done,  had  Lem 
been  a  faithful  employe  of  their  own.  There  were  even 
many  who  declared  that  even  if  Lem  had  been  a  nigger, 
and  the  circumstances  been  still  the  same,  they  should 
have  cared  for  him  under  their  own  roofs.  This,  from 
people  who  lived  within  a  few  miles  of  a  slave  State, 
and  before  an  abolition  party  openly  existed  in  the 
West,  was  as  strong  language  as  the  most  earnest  hu- 
manitarian could  desire. 

When,  however,  Dr.  Beers  announced,  with  pardonable 
pride,  that  although  Lem  had  been  very  dangerously 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  119 

ill,  lie  was  now  in  a  fair  way  to  recover,  the  direction  of 
conversation  was  somewhat  changed.  It  now  became 
the  task — not  at  all  hard — for  each  man  to  convince  his 
neighbor  that  it  was  the  Squire's  duty  to  again  find 
occupation  for  Lem.  A  self-appointed  committee  of 
one  waited  on  the  Squire,  and  informally  expressed  the 
sense  of  the  public,  but  the  Squire  vigorously  declined 
to  be  guided  thereby. 

"  The  doctor  says  he  isn't  fit  to  work  much,"  said  he, 
"an,  I  don't  employ  men  to  stand  around  an'  hold  them- 
selves up.  I  ain't  without  charity,  but  I'm  not  the  man 
to  take  the  whole  charge  of  the  only  object  of  charity  in 
the  county.  The  right  place  for  him  is  the  town  where 
he  came  from,  an'  where  his  people  have  contributed,  by 
payin'  taxes  to  the  public  fund  that's  drawn  on  for  the 
support  of  the  poor.  I've  done  more  for  him  than  any- 
body else  in  town;  to  be  sure,  the  doctor's  made  him 
well,  but  he's  doctored  him  in  time  that  he  wouldn't 
have  been  doin'  anything  else  in,  and  I  don't  s'pose  all 
the  medicines  he  give  him  ever  cost  a  dollar.  /  took 
him  when  he  hadn't  a  friend;  I  kept  him  a  week  for 
no  thin';  I  held  onto  him  when  I'd  have  been  justified  in 
sendin'  him  away ;  I  put  myself  out  to  find  him  a  way  of 


120  The  Jericho  Road; 

gettin'  back  to  his  mother  when  he  wanted  to  go;  I 
gave  him  a  shawl  to  keep  himself  warm  with — IVe  done 
lots  of  things  for  him.  He's  of  age, — he's*  come  back 
here  of  his  own  free  will;  he  don't  want  to  live  on  any 
body  else; — why  don't  somebody  give  him  work,  if  they 
think  so  much  of  him  ?  Pd  do  it  quick  enough  if  he  was 
strong  enough  to  do  what's  got  to  be  done,  but  the  pork- 
packin'  an'  corn-shellin'  season's  nearly  on  us,  an'  I've 
got  to  have  a  strong  man  that  ain't  likely  to  get  sick  an' 
upset  all  my  business  calculations." 

The  Squire  said  as  much  to  Lem,  though  in  a  kinder 
manner,  and  with  sundry  quotations  of  Scripture,  011  the 
first  day  when  the  convalescent  lounged  into  the  store. 
Lem  admitted  the  wisdom  of  the  Squire's  remarks;  and 
was  as  grateful  when  the  Squire  promised  to  "  keep  him 
in  mind  if  he  heard  of  anything  turnin'  up  " — as  if  the 
Squire  meant  more  by  that  expression  than  other  people 
do  under  similar  circumstances.  • 

Then  began  for  Lem  a  course  of  experience  through 
which  thousands  of  men  have  passed,  and  thousands  are 
all  the  while  passing,  but  which,  in  spite  of  its  common- 
ness, is  full  of  tortures  keener  than  any  that  Christian 
zealot  or  heathen  executioner  were  ever  able  to  devise — a 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  121 

course  of  experience  whose  influence  upon  character,  and, 
through  character,  upon  the  world — the  usual  nature  of 
religious  teaching  has  never  succeeded  in  overcoming. 
No  one  spoke  unkindly  to  Lem,  but  no  one  greeted  him 
with  any  cordiality.  Business  men  did  not  frown  when 
he  approached,  but,  no  matter  how  great  their  leisure 
might  be,  they  never  gave  him  any  encouragement  to 
enlarge  upon  his  necessity  for  employment.  Occasionally 
some  one  would  quiet  his  own  conscience  and  get  rid  of 
Lem  by  giving  him  a  dollar,  or  some  smaller  coin,  and 
then  intimate  by  his  tone  and  action  that  his  entire  duty 
was  done.  Others,  equally  practical  but  not  willing  to 
pay  so  large  a  price  for  a  peaceful  mind,  would  give  Lem 
employment  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  pay  him  at  the  cur- 
rent rate  of  daily  labor ;  still  others  would  feel  that  they 
had  discharged  all  their  moral  obligation  by  giving  Lem 
a  full  meal. 

And  yet  the  people  of  Mount  Zion  were  as  good,  col- 
lectively, as  those  of  any  other  town,  and  better  than 
those  of  many,  for  Mount  Zion  was  originally  a  religious 
colony,  and  the  descendants  of  the  founders  were  people 
of  considerable  character.  Every  one  was  sorry  for  Lem 
— every  one  but  Lem  himself  heard  everywhere  what  an 
6 


122  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

unfortunate  but  deserving  fellow  he  was.  As  Lem 
strolled  aimlessly  past  Mrs.  Berrington's  house  one  aft- 
ernoon, while  that  lady  was  entertaining  quite  a  large 
company,  wrhich  had  gathered  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  the  new  judge  of  the  circuit,  the  whole  assemblage 
began  at  once  to  speak  commiserating!  j  of  the  poor  fel- 
low, his  lonely,  friendless  life,  his  lack  of  prospects,  the 
weighty  nature  of  his  responsibilities. 

"Why  don't  some  one  give  him  work?"  asked  the 
judge,  who  was  a  resident  of  a  different  county. 

"Well — he — he  isn't  very  strong — lie  can't  do  much — 
he  came  very  near  dying  a  short  time  ago,"  some  one 
answered,  and  the  judge  replied  "Oh!"  in  a  tone  which 
indicated  that  he  completely  understood  the  matter,  and 
regarded  it  in  the  same  light  in  which  the  citizens  did. 
Lem  passed  the  Squire's  pastor  one  day  in  the  street, 
and  had  in  his  face  an  expression  which  caused  the  good 
pastor  to  go  instantly  home  and  pray  earnestly  that  the 
steps  of  this  poor  man  might  be  ordered  of  the  Lord. 
Lem  happened  in  at  the  Methodist  prayer-meeting  one 
night,  and  noiselessly  contracted  him  si -If  into  one  of  the 
rearmost  corners;  the  next  brother  who  prayed  m:i<ir  \\ 
special  appeal  to  heaven  for  Lem,  mentioning  the  would- 
be  beneficiary  by  name. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  123 

Lena  grew  steadily  poorer,  weaker  and  more  anxious 
looking.  When  his  money  gave  out  he  left  his  board- 
ing-house and  slept  in  a  corn-rick;  no  one  made  re- 
marks about  it,  for  no  one  knew  of  it.  Then  he  caught 
fish  until  the  weather  grew  too  cold  for  fishing,  and  the 
money  for  which  he  sold  his  fish  paid  for  his  lodging  and 
board  with  a  shiftless  family  living  near  the  river. 
Whenever  there  was  a  freshet  he  sat  in  a  skiff  and 
watched  the  river  for  saw-logs;  such  of  these  as  he  se- 
cured gained  him  money  enough  to  retain  his  miserable 
home.  He  cut  wood  on  ground  which  a  farmer  wanted 
cleared,  but  he  could  do  only  about  half  the  work  of  an 
able-bodied  man,  and  there  were  many  rainy  days  in 
which  he  could  not  work  at  all,  so  he  never  was  able  to 
spare  money  for  his  mother.  Beggars,  who  occasionally 
visited  Mount  Zion  and  told  pitiful  stories,  fared  better 
than  he,  for  Lem  did  not  know  how  to  beg. 

He  was  not,  with  his  many  troubles,  as  badly  off  as 
he  might  have  been,  however,  for  he  had  three  friends. 
The  first  was  the  old  woman  who  had  knit  him  a  pair  of 
socks  when  he  was  sick;  the  second  was  a  little  boy 
named  Billy  Miles;  and  the  third,  from  whom  he  had 
once  been  estranged,  but  in  whom  he  now  found  his 


124:  The  Jericho  Road; 

only  way  into  occasional  oblivion,  was  whisky.  The 
old  woman,  who  lived  by  herself  with  barely  enough  to 
live  upon,  never  had  to  cut  her  own  fire-wood  after 
Lem's  recovery,  as  in  previous  days  the  villagers  had 
allowed  her  to  do.  The  little  boy's  heart  Lem  had  won 
by  teaching  him  to  make  spring- traps  for  birds,  and  the 
grateful  little  fellow  had  tried  to  repay  Lem  by  teaching 
him  Sunday  school  hymns  and  giving  him  a  glass  mar- 
ble. The  friendly  service  of  whisky  Lem  could  gain 
only  by  an  outlay  of  money,  but  the  expense  was  small 
as  compared  with  the  receipts. 

But  there  were  times  when  the  companionship  of 
neither  of  these  friends  sufficed — times  when  the  thought 
of  all  he  should  do  but  could  not  do,  drove  him  nearly 
to  madness.  People  who  were  out  of  doors  at  night, 
occasionally  met  a  spare,  bent  figure,  who,  when  it 
thought  itself  unobserved,  would  make  strange  gestures 
and  give  forth  strange,  inarticulate  sounds.  If  the 
rnoon  were  shining,  they  would  see  a  face  almost  fright- 
ful in  its  eagerness.  From  behind  the  fringe  of  faces 
which  surrounded  the  departing  congregations  on  Sun- 
day, the  same  countenance  was  often  seen,  until  some  of 
the  more  fastidious  worshipers  were  heard  to  wish  that 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  125 

that  dreadful  looking  fellow  would  leave  the  town.  He 
haunted  the  doorways  of  churches,  school-houses  and  the 
court-house,  whenever  any  entertainment  was  given  at 
either  of  them,  and  scrutinized  the  ground  closely,  as  if 
hoping  to  see  some  one  drop  loose  change  near  the  door. 
At  one  time  he  gathered  pecan-nuts,  which  had  some 
commercial  value,  and  sold  them  until  he  amassed  sev- 
eral dollars,  all  of  which  money  he  parted  with  for  the 
sake  of  consulting  a  fortune-teller,  but  without  receiving 
any  tangible  return. 


126  The  Jericho  Road  ; 


CHAPTER   XIY. 

A   NEW   EXPERIENCE. 

As  LEM  crept  about  the  streets  one  cold,  dark  night, 
looking  downward  and  straight  ahead  as  is  the  habit  with 
the  weaker  beasts  of  prey,  he  suddenly  heard,  in  spite  of 
closed  doors  and  windows,  a  mighty  shout  of  song  go  up 
from  the  little  Methodist  church,  where  one  of  the  daily 
evening  services  of  a  series  known  as  "  protracted  meet- 
ings "  was  going  on.  There  was  something  so  assertive 
about  the  music — all  vocal — that  Lorn  unconsciously 
stopped  and  listened,  and  as  the  refrain  again  burst  forth 
he  caught  the  words: 


the  sli<>iv,    <>    we'll  hni'l  on  the    shore,   And    wo'll  shout 

Such  a  rousing  chorus   J/MII   h;i<l   m-vrr   ln-ard    l>r}'.»;v. 
.n>:irlK'd    ihu 


A  Story  of  Western   Life.  127 

lifted  the  latch  as  noiselessly  as  possible,  and  slipped 
into  a  back  seat. 

The  scene  Lem  beheld  speedily  caused  him  to  forget 
his  troubles.  The  small,  plain  room,  well  lit  by  tallow 
candles,  was  full  of  men  and  women,  mostly  members  of 
the  church.  The  sermon  had  ended,  and  in  response  to  an 
exhortation,  several  persons  had  knelt  at  wooden  benches 
inside  the  altar-rail.  Some  of  these  were  crying,  and 
over  all  of  them  bent  various  members  of  the  church, 
praying,  instructing,  and  exhorting.  Among  the 
remaining  members  hymns  and  prayers  had  followed 
each  other  in  rapid  succession,  a  short  and  earnest 
exhortation  from  the  pastor  occasionally  varying  the 
order  of  exercises.  At  each  response  to  the  pastor's 
invitation  to  mourners  to  come  forward,  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  congregation  had  increased,  the  prayers  had 
become  more  fervid  and  the  songs  more  spirited. 

Lem  looked  about  him  in  amazement.  Could  these 
really  be  the  quiet,  hard-working,  rather  depressed  people 
he  met  about  town  every  day?  There  was  one  man 
standing  in  the  aisle  with  the  face  and  air  of  a  martial 
leader; — could  that  really  be  Asa  Ringfelter,  who  usually 
shuffled  about  with  apparently  only  the  single  idea  of 


128  The  Jericho  Road; 

dodging  Squire  Barkum,  to  whom  he  owed  more  money 
than  he  could  pay  ?  And  there,  on  the  altar  steps,  stood 
a  man  who  had  on  a  suit  of  clothes  which  Lem  had  last 
seen  on  his  late  host,  Ben  Kingsell;  but  the  face — surely 
that  supremely  happy  expression  could  not  be  developed 
from  the  doleful  features  which  Ben  had  sufficient  excuse 
to  habitually  carry.  In  an  "amen-"  seat  sat  an  old  half- 
breed,  wrho  w^as  undoubtedly  the  person  always  known  at 
Mount  Zion  as  "  old  Daddy  Perks,"  and  who  had  all  the 
stolidity  of  his  Indian  parent;  yet  now  he  was  crying 
with  joy  and  shouting  "Glory  to  God!"  in  tones  heard 
easily  above  the  loudest  bursts  of  song.  Old  Aunty 
Bates  Lem  had  always  believed  was  an  angel;  but  now, 
in  spite  of  her  wrinkles  and  straggling  hairs  and  unut- 
terably hideous  bonnet,  she  looked  like  one.  What  could 
it  all  mean? 

Every  one  but  the  few  unbelievers  knelt  when  the 
pastor  called  on  Brother  Brown  to  pray,  and  as  the 
prayer,  rugged  in  its  structure  but  almost  terrible  in  its 
earnestness,  proceeded,  the  unbelievers  thorn  solves  looked 
solemn;  one  of  them  attempted  to  create  a  diversion  by 
throwing  a  cockle-burr  upon  the  bald  pate  of  a  kneeling 
person,  but  the  smiles  excited  were  few  and  sickly. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life. 


129 


When  the  prayer  ended,  good  farmer  Hake  raised  the 
following  hymn,  preceded  by  its  chorus : 


t=J_=^=tii  :_g_^_,= : 


Sing  his  praise,  ye  lofty  mountatns  ;  rolling  oceans,  mighty  fountains  ; 


roaring  thunders,  lightnings'  blazes,  Shout  the  great  Redeemer's  praises. 
CHORUS. 


he      reigns      vie     -      to     -      ri   -   ous, 


O    -    ver    earth   and     heaven  most  glorious,         Je    -    sus  reigns. 

The  farmer,  who  had  a  soul  full  of  poetry,  although 
the  only  poems  he  ever  read  were  in  the  hymn-book,  led 
this  first  verse  with  a  perfection  of  dramatic  perfection 
never  seen  'on  the  operatic  stage ;  but  he  changed  his 
tone  as  he  led  the  next  verse: 

Come  ye  sons  of  wrath  and  ruin, 
Who  have  wrought  your  own  undoin' — 
Rebel  sinners,  royal  favor, 
Now  is  offered  by  the  Saviour. 
Jesus  reigns,  etc. 

At  the  close  of  this  verse  a  tin- shop  apprentice,  with 


130 


The  Jericlio  Road  / 


a  desperate  but  unsuccessful  attempt  to  appear  unaffect- 
ed, hurried  forward  to  the  altar,  and  dropped  at  the 
bench  with  a  groan.  Immediately  the  pastor  ordered 
another  prayer,  but  Lem  paid  little  attention  to  it;  he 
stared  at  the  seat  the  apprentice  had  left,  and  wondered 
why  the  young  man,  who  was  one  of  the  principal  even- 
ing lights  of  Micham's  groggery,  had  gone  to  the  altar. 
His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  Brother  Benkess 
starting  the  only  hymn  whose  air  he  thought  he  knew, 
but  about  which  he  was  lamentably  mistaken;  this  musi- 
cal failure  was  brought  to  an  early  end  by  Father  Dil- 
man,  who  sang — 


hope  to  shout  glory,  When  the  world's  on  fire,  Hal-le    -    lu     -     jah. 

Tliis  was  followed  by  several  verses  of  the  old  hymn 

beginning — 

"Jesus  my  all  to  heaven  has  sone," 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  131 

with  the  second  and  fourth  lines  of  the  above  chorus 
appearing  between  the  lines  of  the  hymn.  As  Father 
Dilman,  who  had  once  been  a  sailor,  proceeded  with  the 
hymn,  he  unconsciously  found  his  way  into  the  aisle, 
and  strode  up  and  down,  shouting  the  words  in  staccato, 
with  tremendous  emphasis,  and  looking  at  every  one 
enquiringly,  as  if  to  ask  if  they  were  not  going  to  assist 
him  at  shouting  in  the  new  world;  so  a-t  least  the  old 
man's  face  seemed  to  say  to  Lem,  and  the  poor  boy's 
heart  gave  a  bound  at  the  thought.  The  world  on 
fir£? — the  last  trial  over? — oh,  if  it  only  were!  and  he 
and  his  father,  and  mother,  and  brothers,  and  sisters, 
could  stand  around  the  great  white  throne  he  had  heard 
of,  and  shout  with  joy  over  the  end  of  all  sorrow  and 
trouble! 

Suddenly  the  wThole  tone  of  the  meeting  was  changed 
by  some  one  who  started  the  refrain  : 


Re-  mem -ber  me,     re-mem-ber  me !  O,  LoVd,  re  -  mem  -  ber  me ! 
Re  -  mem  -ber  Lord,  Thy  dying  groans,  And  then  re-mem  -  ber  me  ! 

Numerous  verses  from  different  hvnins  were  sung  to 

«/  O 

the  same  music,  the  refrain  following  each  verse.     The 
first  few  notes  sobered  the  congregation,  and  made  Lem 


132  The  Jericho  Road; 

shiver;  as  tlie  song  continued,  each  successive  couplet 
sounded  more  and  more  like  a  beseeching  wail;  not  a 
single  false  note  marred  the  inexorableness  of  the  har- 
mony, and  the  couplets  seemed  finally  to  change  to  blows, 
each  one  more  terrible  than  the  last.  Lena  trembled — he 
grew  pale — he  grasped  the  rail  of  the  seat  before  him, 
lest  he  should  fall.  His  only  comfort  was  that  he  was  so 
insignificant  and  uninteresting  that  no  one  would  notice 
him.  But  he  was  mistaken;  Aunty  Bates  turned  her 
head  as  some  disturbance  took  place  at  the  door,  and  saw 
Lena,  and  something  in  his  appearance  caused  her  to  put 
on  her  spectacles  and  scrutinize  him  intently.  The  in- 
stant the  hymn  was  ended  her  cracked  voice  was  heard 
starting  the  hymn: 

"Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul," 

to  the  air  generally  known  as  "  PI ey el's  Hymn."  The 
audience  was  in  exactly  the  right  humor  to  render  this 
prayer — as  both  in  words  and  music  it  was — in  the  right 
spirit.  At  the  end  of  the  first  verse  Lena  broke  down; 
the  words: 

"  Hide  me,  Oh,  my  Savior,  hide, 

Till  the  storm  of  life  is  passed," 

brought  tears  to  his  eyes,  and  though  he  dropped  his 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  133 

head  upon  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front  of  him,  he  could 
not  conceal  his  emotion.  Father  Dilman,  who  had  not 
recovered  from  his  excitement,  noticed  that  Lem  was 
greatly  disturbed  in  mind,  so  he  seated  himself  beside 
him,  and  said: 

"  Poor  sinner,  why  don't  you  take  up  your  cross  and 
go  forward  for  the  prayers  of  God's  people?  There1  s 
the  ark  of  safety — right  up  at  that  mourner's  bench." 

Lem  still  trembled  and  cried. 

"Come  right  along,"  urged  Father  Dilman,  laying 
an  enormous  hand  on  the  weeping  boy's  shoulder. 
"  There's  always  room  for  one  more  on  the  good  ship 
Zion.  There's  a  haven  of  rest  for  them  that  believe." 

Lem  only  wept  harder. 

"Powerful  convictions  make  glorious  conversions," 
continued  the  old  sailor,  "  an'  yon  seem  to  have  as  much 
conviction  aboard  as  a  craft  of  your  size  can  carry. 
Come  along — I'll  give  you  a  tow  if  you  think  you  can't 
make  the  mourners'  bench  under  your  own  canvass. 
It'  11  make  you  feel  better  the  minute  you  weigh 
anchor." 

"  I  don't  want  to  feel  better,"  said  Lem,  half-choked 
apparently  by  his  feelings.  "  I'm  as  happy  as  I  can  be 


134 


The  Jericho  Road ; 


and  live;  I  don't  want  anything  but  to  die,  and  get  out 
of  this  awful  world,  and  up  to  where  God  is." 

The  people  were  still  wailing  their  way  through 
"Wesley  and  Pleyel,  but  Father  Dilman  sprang  upon  a 
seat  and  shouted: 

"Another  soul  made  port — Glory  to  God!"  and  then 
the  old  sailor,  with  a  voice  against  which  the  assembled 
multitude  strove  only  to  submit,  roared  out: 


^£==£3 


* — * — 0- 


-0 — 0- 


I         want  to    go,  I        want,  to      go  I        want  to      go 


£l   _fL.  \  1 

J—  0  J  —  0  

-J  g 

m 

^ 

to     hea  -  ven,  I        want  to  go  where   Je    -   BUS       is, 


JLTJ1 


0      9 
and  have  my  sins     for    -     giv  -  en.     I'll  tell  you  why    I  want  to 


-1 \ 


I'll     tell    the  pleas    -     ing    sto     -    ry ;       There's  so    much  troub  - 


le       here  he  -  low,         but,    oh,  there's  none     in  glo    -     ry. 

Several  of  the  brethren  looked  around  imjuiringly,  an-l 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  135 

finally  made  their  way  through  the  aisle  to  where  Lem 
sat;  they  shook  his  hand,  they  congratulated  him,  and 
when  the  pastor,  at  the  close  of  the  meeting  gave  an  op- 
portunity to  those  who  wished  to  unite  with  the  church 
on  probation,  and  Lem  started  forward  to  give  the  pastor 
his  hand,  the  little  knot  of  sympathizers  led  the  audi- 
ence in  the  doxology,  beginning — 

"Praise  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow.1' 


136  The  Jericho  Road ; 


CHAPTEK     XY. 

THE   SQUIRE'S  RELIGIOUS  INTEREST    IN    LEM  is  CRUELLY 

ABUSED. 

As  LEM  slowly  awoke  on  tlie  next  morning,  lie  grad- 
ually lost  his  desire  to  die  and  be  among  the  angels.  As 
he  opened  his  eyes  the  least  bit,  and  beheld  the  unattract- 
ive surroundings  of  his  miserable  apartment,  he  tried  to 
conjure  up  the  visions  and  sounds  of  the  night  before — 
the  lights,  the  songs,  the  melodies,  the  transformed 
faces  of  men  who  usually  seemed  but  little  less  troubled 
than  himself — but  without  avail.  Bare,  cobwebbed 
rafters  were  what  he  saw;  the  rattling  of  culinary  uten- 
sils, and  the  querulous  voice  of  his  landlady  scolding  her 
impudent  children,  were  the  sounds  that  he  heard,  lie 
groaned,  and  buried  his  face  in  the  straw  of  his  ragged 
pillow,  but  a  shout  of  "O,  Lem!"  roused  him  to  see  his 
landlord,  alow-browed,  blear-eyed,  bestial  man,  standing 
at  the  head  of  the  ladder  which  led  to  Lem's  chamber. 

"  The  fish  is  fried,"  remarked  the  landlord ;  and  Lem 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  137 

arose  and  performed  his  toilet  by  putting  on  his  hat. 
By  the  act  of  descending  the  ladder,  he  came  again  into 
his  old  world  —and  the  new,  in  spite  of  a  frantic  mental 
grasp,  and  eager  stare  and  a  great  gulp  in  his  throat, 
faded  from  his  sight.  He  did  not  lose  hope  of  recover- 
ing it,  however.  He  despatched  his  breakfast  with 
unusual  celerity,  and  strolled  up  to  the  busier  street  of 
the  town.  He  passed  Micham's  grocery,  its  doors  sur- 
rounded by  many  of  his  old  comrades,  without  much 
effort,  but  as  he  approached  the  principal  stores  he  was 
tempted  to  run,  and  never  show  himself  in  town  again. 
He  longed  to  be  spoken  to  by  some  one  of  the  religious 
merchants,  several  of  whom  had  been  participants  (not 
active)  in  the  meeting,  but  he  dreaded  to  hear  what  they 
might  have  to  say.  As  he  passed  one  after  another  of 
them,  receiving  only  a  pleasant  yet  conservative  "  Good 
morning"  and  an  inquisitive  stare,  his  pale  face  flushed 
with  mingled  expectancy  and  disappointment.  What  if 
even  Christian  bonds  had  no  thread  of  sympathy  in 
them? — there  would  then  be  no  common  meeting- 
ground  on  which  he  might  find  that  response  for  which 
his  heart  was  longing,  even  though  he  could  not  name  it. 
But  Lem  was  not  to  be  doomed  to  utter  disappoint- 


138  The  Jericho  .Road; 

nient.  Faithful  among  the  faithless,  Squire  Barkum 
spied  Lem  from  the  rear  of  the  store,  and  although  the 
good  merchant  was  busily  engaged  in  rubbing  molasses 
settlings  into  the  brown  sugar,  he  dashed  out  the  front 
door  and  laid  a  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  his  ex-employe. 

"My  dear  young  friend,"  said  the  Squire,  as  Lem 
instinctively  took  a  defensive  attitude  by  thrusting  his 
hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  pantaloons,  "I  am 
rejoiced  to  hear  that  you  have  taken  a  most  excellent 
and  praiseworthy  step.  I  could  have  wished  that  you 
might  have  cast  your  lot  among  m,  for  I  have  an  abid- 
ing conviction  that  our  faith  is  more  consoling  and 
unassailable  than  any  other,  but  there  are  nevertheless,  a 
great  many  excellent  people  among  the  Methodists. 
There's  Captain  Dilman,  now — I've  sometimes  thought 
that  he  was  mighty  shaky  in  doctrine,  but  he  always 
settles  his  account  every  winter,  and  there  ain't  no  lion- 
ester  man  in  the  whole  county  to  trade  horses  with. 
An'  there's  Jonathan  Bingham — Jonathan's  slow  pay, 
but  I  always  believed  he  meant  to  do  what  he  said. 
How  is  it  with  your  soul,  Lemuel  ?" 

Lem  dropped  his  eyes.  He  was  not  apt  at  formulating 
his  feelings,  and  on  this  particular  morning  he  had  no 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  139 

feelings  sufficiently  distinct  to  admit  of  direct  descrip- 
tion; so  lie  contemplated  a  tuft  of  grass  growing 
between  the  bricks  of  the  pavement,  and  remained  silent. 

"Don't  you  feel  Christ  in  you,  the  hope  of  glory?" 
asked  the  Squire,  with  tender  solicitude. 

Lem  still  remained  silent. 

"  Don't  the  Sperit  bear  witness  with  your  sperit  that 
you  are  born  of  God  ? " 

"  I  guess  it's  all  right,  Squire,"  said  Lem,  at  length, 
"  but  I  don't  exactly  understand  what  you  mean." 

"Ain't  you  born  again?"  asked  the  Squire.  "Tell 
me  what  your  experience  has  been." 

"  "Well,"  said  Lem,  "  I  went  into  the  Methodist  meet- 
in'-house  last  night,  an'  everybody  was  happy,  an'  I 
found  I  was  growin'  happy  too,  an'  I  just  let  myself  do 
it.  I  never  seemed  to  see  God  an'  feel  him  before,  but 
last  night  I  was  sure  I  did.  I  felt  as  if  I  was  ready  to 
die  an'  go  to  him  right  away.  But  I  don't  feel  that  way 
now." 

"  That's  nothiir  wonderful,"  said  the  Squire,  reassur- 
ingly. "  Everybody's  had  the  same  experience.  But 
don't  let  go  your  hope." 

"I  don't  mean  to,"  said  Lem;  "it's  all  I've  got  in  the 
world." 


140  The  Jericho  Road; 

The  Squire  darted  a  suspicious  look  at  Lem.  "  I'm 
afeard,  Lemuel,"  said  he,  "that  the  flesh  is  warrin'  agin' 
the  Sperit.  Beware  of  that; — the  carnal  mind  is  at 
enmity  against  God." 

"  I  don't  know  what  the  carnal  mind  is,"  said  Lem ; 
"  but  now  that  it's  rnornin',  an'  there's  nothin'  around  to 
keep  my  mind  on  the  strain  it  was  last  night,  I  get  to 
thinkin'  over  the  old  trouble  again — how  I'm  to  do  for 
mother " 

The  Squire  interrupted:  "He  that  loveth  father  or 
mother  more  than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me — that's  what 
Christ  said,  Lemuel." 

"Well,"  said  Lem,  "if  I  got  the  right  notion  about 
him  last  night,  he  ain't  a  goin'  to  give  me  the  go-by  be- 
cause I  want  to  be  a  lovin'  son  and  brother.  This  here  's 
an  awful  world,  Squire." 

"  It's  only  a  sojournin'  place,  Lemuel,"  said  the  good 
old  man;  "heaven's  the  only  home.  Lay  up  your 
treasure  in  heaven,  for  where  the  treasure  is  there  will 
the  heart  be  also." 

"'Tain't  treasures  that's  botherin'  me,"  said  Lem; 
"  it's  the  want  of  'em — it 's  care." 

"  Cast  all  your  care  on  him,  for  he  careth  for  us,"  said 
the  Squire. 


A  Story   of  Western  Life. 

"Is  that  in  the  Bible?"  asked  Lem. 

"Yes,  indeed,  it  is,"  said  the  Squire,  hurrying  into  the 
back  room  of  the  store  and  bringing  out  one  of  the  Bible 
Society  volumes;  "it's  .there,  an'  lots  of  other  precious 
promises.  Take  this  book,  Lemuel — 'twoii't  cost  you 
anything — and  may  its  precious  truths  be  your  daily 
meat  an'  drink." 

Lem  took  the  Bible  with  the  air  of  a  mail  who  felt 
that  other  meat  and  drink  he  was  not  likely  to  find 
much  of.  . 

"  Sit  down,  Lemuel,"  said  the  Squire,  pointing  to  the 
chair.  "  You're  a  new  traveler  in  the  strait  an'  narrow 
way,  but  I've  been  in  it  a  long  time.  I  want  to  give 
testimony  to  the  goodness  of  Almighty  God.  I've  been 
on  the  road  to  Zion  for  nigh  on  to  fifty  year.  I've  had 
my  share  of  the  sorrows  an'  afflictions  of  life,  but  there 
never  was  a  time  when  I  needed  strength  that  it  wasn't 
give  to  me  from  above.  As  the  psalmist  says,  there's 
been  times  when  I'd  have  fainted  if  I  hadn't  seen  the 
goodness  of  God,  but  I  never  was  allowed  to  faint.  An' 
you'll  find  it  so  too.  Don't  ever  let  yourself  be  cast 
down.  The  good  book  says,  if  any  man  lack  wisdom, 
let  him  ask  of  the  Lord,  who  giveth  liberally,  but  let 


142  The  Jericho  Road; 

him  ask  in  faith,  no  thin'  waver  in'.  An'  if  you  don't 
seem  to  get  your  mind  clear,  then  come  to  me,  an'  profit 
by  the  experience  of  an  older  hand  at  the  business.  I'm 
your  friend,  Lemuel — I've  showed  it  to  you  before  in 
earthly  things,  an'  now  I  want  to  be  your  friend  in 
heavenly  things.  If  I  could  help  you  any  way,  I'd  feel 
happy  in  it,  knowin'  I'd  be  doin'  the  will  of  my  Father 
in  heaven.  Oh,  Lemuel,  the  ways  of  Providence  are 
mysterious  an'  past  findin'  out — who'd  have  supposed 
that  losin'  your  health  when  you  started  with  Sam 
Reeves'  hoss-gang,  would  have  brought  you  back  to 
where  you  was  to  find  your  Lord?  An'  to  think  that  I, 
that  never  expected  any  reward  exceptin'  in  the  approvin' 
smiles  of  my  heavenly  Father,  should  have  seen  you 
brought  to  him  right  here  in  the  town  that  was  the 
scene  of  my  labors  for  you.  My  dear  boy," — here  the 
Squire  sprang  to  his  feet  and  seized  Lem's  hand — 

'*  I  give  you  here  my  heart  an'  hand, 
To  meet  you  in  the  promised  land.11 

Tears — honest  tears — came  into  the  Squire's  eyes  as  lie 
said  these  last  words,  and  pressed  Lem's  hand,  while 
poor,  friendless,  despondent  Lem  gave  vent  to  his  own 
feelings  after  the  manner  which  the  Squire's  example  had 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  143 

afforded.  The  world  again  seemed  less  the  old  scene  of 
sorrow  and  disappointment.  The  Squire's  tears  contin- 
ued to  flow,  his  rugged  face  softened  into  kindliness,  and 
he  still  held  Lem's  hand  tightly  in  his  own.  The  boy 
looked  at  him  wistfully,  enquiringly,  hopefully ;  he  over- 
came some  obstruction  in  his  throat,  and  at  last  stam- 
mered out: 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Squire,  I  really  am,  more 
than  I  can  tell.  I'm  going  to  try  to  do  everything  that 
the  Bible  tells  me,  an'  that  Christians  tell  me,  an'  I'll 
take  you  up  at  your  offer  whenever  I  want  advice.  I 
could  be  the  best  man  in  the  world  if  it  wasn't  for — for 
— oh,  Squire,  if  you  would  only  give  me  work — steady 
work — so  I  wouldn't  all  the  time  be  full  of  torment 
about  mother!" 

The  Squire's  face  froze  at  once  into  its  accustomed 
lines;  his  tears  disappeared;  he  dropped  Lena's  hand  and 
said: 

"  That's  out  of  the  question,  Lemuel ;  you  know  you 
can't  do  my  work,  an'  I  can't  keep  two  men.  It'll  all 
come  right — l  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God  an'  His 
righteousness,  an'  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto 
you.'  I  ain't  got  time  to  talk  any  more  now,  for  here 


144  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

conies  tlie  widow  Meer  with  a  crock  of  butter,  an'  it 
takes  her  a  long  time  to  trade.  Commit  thy  way  unto 

the  Lord,  an'  he  shall  bring  it  to butter,  Mrs.  Meer? 

— let's  look  at  it;  there's  so  much  butter  comin'  in  just 
now  that  we  don't  care  to  trade  for  any  that  ain't  first 
class." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  145 


CHAPTER   XYL 

THE   HERO    FORMS    SOME   MONEYED   ACQUAINTANCES. 

Lem  hurried  through  the  village  toward  the  forest,  in 
which  the  main  street  seemed  to  end.  He  walked  so  fast 
that  the  boys  at  the  blacksmith  shop  stopped  work  to 
stare,  and  approaching  countrymen  looked  enquiringly, 
and  unconsciously  slackened  the  pace  of  their  slow- walk- 
ing horses,  as  if  they  expected  some  news.  Arrived  at 
last  at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  he  threw  himself  on  the 
doorstep  of  an  abandoned  toll-gate  house,  and  groaned. 
For  a  few  moments  he  breathed  short  and  quick,  as  ex- 
hausted people  always  do,  and  then  he  began  to  murmur 
to  himself: 

"  I  wish  to  God  I  could  die.  I  wonder  if  it  is  wrong 
for  a  feller  to  kill  himself  ?  If  I  was  dead  mother  and 
the  chidren  wouldn't  ever  have  any  disappointment  on 
my  account  any  more.  I  wish  I  didn't  ever  have  to  see 
anybody  in  Mount  Zion  again;  everybody  looks  at  me 
this  morning  as  if  I  was  a  menagerie.  Can?t  somebody 


146  The  Jericho  Road; 

ever  even  think  to  say  a  kind  word,  or  even  look  kind,  I 
wonder,  to  a  poor  feller  that  never  asks  anything  else  of 
'em  but  what  he's  willin'  to  work  for?"  The  Squire — he 
is  just  what  everybody  says — I  swear  he  is;  I  wish  I'd 
have  died  before  I  met  him  this  mornin';  no  thin'  ever 
made  the  world  look  so  awful  before." 

Inside  the  building,  and  but  a  few  feet  from  Lem,  two 
men  had  listened  to  what  he  had  said,  and  were  now  car- 
rying on  an  animated  conversation  with  every  feature 
except  their  lips.  One  of  them,  who  looked  like  a  weazel 
not  greatly  overgrown,  shook  his  head  vigorously  in 
favor  of  some  argument  which  his  eyes  had  advanced; 
the  other,  large,  dark,  sinister,  and  heavily  bearded, 
seemed  in  a  receptive  mood,  but  not  convinced.  Lem 
continued : 

"  An'  all  this  time  there's  mother  a-waitin'  an  a-hopin' 
an'  a-listenin'  for  the  mail-carrier,  an'  a-goin'  to  the  post 
office  an'  a  com  in'  away  without  any  letter,  an'  a-won- 
derin'  whether  I'm  dead;  an'  here's  me,  that  hain't  got 
the  grit  to  tell  her  I  hain't  got  any  money  to  send  her. 
Great  God!  Ain't  it  bad  enough  to  be  a  good-for-notliin' 
rack  of  bones  that's  no  comfort  to  myself,  without  havin' 
to  be  in  this  hell  about  money?" 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  147 

Again  the  weazel-faced  man  inside  snapped  his  eyes 
and  set  his  teeth  and  shook  his  head  furiously,  and  his 
companion  yielded  so  far  as  to  raise  his  eyebrows  a  trifle 
and  look 'a  little  less  sullen. 

"Talk  about  sellin'  a  man's  soul  for  money,"  Lem 
went  on;  "  I'd  sell  mine — I'd  sell  it  to  the  devil,  if  he 
wanted  it,  an'  do  it  cheap.  No  body  else  seems  to  wa»t 
it — p'raps  them  that's  got  money  got  it  the  same  way. 
That  old  picture  in  the  Sunday-Scoool  book  about  the 
devil  holdin'  a  bag  of  gold,  an'  ev'ry  body  runnin'  after  it 
— just  wouldn't  I  like  to  be  in  that  crowd?  I  wish  he'd 
come  along  here  this  minute." 

The  smile  which  the  weazel-faced  man  cast  upon  his 
companion,  as  he  vigorously  thrust  forth  a  finger  at  him, 
indicated  sufficiently  that  the  devil  was  closer  than  Lem 
supposed ;  while  the  glare  of  satisfaction  which  came  into 
the  large  man's  eyes,  would  have  impressed  a  beholder 
with  the  demonological  idea  that  Satan  was  of  divided  or 
distributed  personality.  The  small  man  softly  arose  and 
left  the  building,  followed  by  his  companion;  the  small 
man  took  from  his  pocket  a  roll  of  bills,  and  selected  one 
of  the  denomination  of  twenty  dollars,  which  he  held  up 
for  the  inspection  of  the  other  man,  and  received  a  nod 


148  The  Jericho  Road; 

in  acknowledgment.  Then  they  both  made  a  short 
detour  in  the  woods,  and  reached  a  point  in  the  road  not 
far  from  the  gate-house.  Here  the  tall  man  laid  down 
by  the  road-side,  while  the  smaller  man,  assuming  an  air 
of  great  agitation,  hurried  on  to  the  house  and  addressed 
Lem: 

% "  Stranger,"  said  he,  "  do  you  want  to  make  ten  dol- 
lars?" 

Lem  sprang  to  his  feet  in  an  instant. 

"  Go  right  to  town  and  buy  me  a  dollar  bottle  of  arnica 
liniment;  my  mate's  got  a  mighty  bad  sprain,  an'  can't 
get  up  off  the  leaves  till  something's  done  for  him. 
Here's  money  to  pay  for  it  with — a  twenty-dollar  bill — 
it's  the  smallest  I've  got — be  sure  you  don't  get  any  bad 
bills  in  change." 

"  Don't — don't  you  want  a  buggy  to  get  him  into  town 
with?"  asked  Lem. 

"No!"  exclaimed  the  weazel-faced  man,  drawing  near 
to  Lem,  and  whispering,  "  we're  tracking  a  horse-thief, 
and  if  he's  in  town  he'd  know  us  if  we  went  in  by  day- 
light. Not  a  word  about  us  to  anybody.  If  you 
shouldn't  find  me  here  when  you  come  back,  hang  around 
the  house  here  till  I  come  for  you.  These  are  ticklish 


A  /Story  of  Western  Life.  149 

times — we're  afraid  -to  let  honest-looking  farmers  see  us, 
even,  for  fear  that  they're  in  with  horse-thieves.  Now 
travel." 

Lem  started  at  a  lively  pace,  but  suddenly  stopped  and 
turned  back. 

" Is  Bill  Hixton  the  hoss-thief  you're  after?"    said  he. 

"  No,"  said  the  weazel-faced  man,  grown  suspicious  in 
an  instant,  "Bill  Hixtoii's  in  jail  in  the  next  county. 
What  do  you  know  about  him  ? " 

"  I  know  he's  a  horse-thief,"  said  Lem,  "  but  I  know 
he  saved  my  life  once,  an'  that  instid  of  buyin'  you  med- 
icine I'd  break  your  partner's  legs,  an  yourn  too,  to  keep 
you  from  catchin'  him  if  he  was  out." 

The  weazel-faced  man  grinned  with  delight.  "  Stick 
to  your  friends,"  said  he,  "  that's  the  way  I  like  to  see  a 
man  do.  Now. hurry  up,  will  you?" 

Away  went  Lem,  looking  a  year  younger  for  every 
dollar  of  his  prospective  fee,  while  the  weazel-faced  man 
rejoined  his  companion. 

"  He's  just  the  fellow  we  need,"  said  he.  "  He's  as 
green  as  grass,  an'  looks  as  if  he  could  be  trusted — tain't 
easy  to  find  men  you  can  trust  in  shoving  counterfeits, 
either." 


150  Tlie  Jericho  Eoad ; 

"Can't  trust  Kim  after  lie  finds- out  what  business 
we're  in,"  growled  the  large  man. 

"  Now  look  here,  Lodge,  what's  the  use  of  gettin'  down 
in  the  mouth  that  way,  just  when  we've  got  a  new 
man?  S'pose  he  does  only  stick  to  us  a  few  days;  we've 
got  the  best-made  money  we  ever  had  yet,  and  one  way 
and  another  we'll  manage  to  have  him  get  off  an  average 
of  a  hundred  a  day.  Countin'  cost — sixteen  and  two- 
thirds  per  cent. — and  makin'  plenty  of  'lowance  for  the 
trash  we  may  have  to  buy  that  we  don't  want  and  can't 
sell,  and  for  what  we  have  to  pay  him,  we  ought  to  clear 
about  seventy-five  dollars  a  day.  That's  better  than  we 
ever  done  when  we  was  in  the  nigger  business." 

The  argument  seemed  unanswerable,  for  Mr.  Lodge 
opened  his  mouth  only  to  locate  a  piece  of  tobacco. 

"  That  ain't  all,  either,"  argued  he  of  the  weazel  face. 
"  I  believe  we  can  tie  that  fellow  to  us  so  he'll  never 
leave,  even  if  he  finds  out  everything,"  and  the  little 
man  repeated  Lem's  remark  about  Bill  Hixton,  conclud- 
ing as  follows: 

"Now,  what  I  say  is,  let's  pump  him  about  his 
mother — you  remember  how  he  talked? — and  give  him 
fifty  to  send  her." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  151 

"Fifty  queer?"  asked  Mr.  Lodge. 

"No,  fifty  straight,"  said  the  little  man.  "It's  a 
square  business  transaction,  that's  bound  to  hold  to- 
gether, and  it's  no  place  for  foolin'.  There's  no  knowin' 
what  tight  scrapes  such  a  fellow  mightn't  get  us  out  of." 

Mr.  Lodge  pondered  moodily  over  the  proposed  busi- 
ness risk,  but  suddenly  his  gloomy  face  grew  radiant,  and 
a  commotion  was  visible  under  the  thicket  which  covered 
his  mouth  and  chin,  as  he  remarked: 

"Bill  Hixton  would  give  us  five  hundred — half  of  it 
down — if  we'd  help  him  break  out.  If  you've  got  the 
story  straight,  this  chap  might  be  put  up — not  so's  he'd 
know  it — to  take  the  risk  and  do  the  work.  Then  we'd 
clear  four  hundred  and  fifty.  How's  that,  Binkle? " 

The  little  mail  danced  with  ecstacy;  not  even  a  black- 
berry cane  that  attached  itself  to  his  coat  and  yearn- 
ingly reached  the  cuticle  upon  Mr.  Binkle's  shoulder, 
succeeded  in  subduing  his  ecstacy.  He  even  gave 
vent  to  several  short  shrieks  of  delight,  which  were  dis- 
continued only  after  the  more  sedate  Mr.  Lodge  had 
made  an  earnest  appeal,  in  language  almost  wholly  scrip- 
tural, for  silence. 

"  We'll  take  the  ten  you  was  going  to  give  him  out 


152  The  Jericho  Eoad  ; 

of  the  fifty  he's  to  send  his  mother,"  suggested  Lodge, 
but  the  business-like  Binkle  replied: 

"  No,  we  won't.  He'll  want  to  spend  something  for 
himself,  maybe,  and  he  ought  to  spend  some  good 
money,  in  case  anybody  should  get  on  the  scent.  I 
believe  he's  coming  now — yes,  it  must  be — somebody 's 
coming,  with  a  bottle  in  his  hand.  Thunder!  I  didn't 
make  up  a  yarn  for  him  to  tell  about  what  he  wanted 
the  liniment  for." 

"  Just  like  you,  always  goin'  off  half  cocked,"  growled 
the  little  man's  partner,  who  had  sunk  already  into  his 
habitual  despondency.  "Let's  get  up  into  the  timber, 
an'  keep  an  eye  on  the  fields — some  infernal  constable 
may  be  trackin'  him." 

Both  men  climbed  trees  near  the  edge  of  the  woods, 
and  scrutinized  the  ground  between  them  and  the  town. 
As  wheat  stubble  was  all  that  the  fields  contained,  they 
soon  satisfied  themselves  that  Lem  was  not  followed. 
Then  they  descended,  and  when  Lem  arrived,  panting 
and  purple,  Mr.  Binkle  welcomed  him  with  a  look  of 
tender  solicitude,  and  led  him  to  a  thicket  a  hundred 
yards  from  the  road,  where  lay  Mr.  Lodge  caressing  a 
bandaged  ankle,  and  simulating  pain  with  heart-rend  in  g 
groans. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  153 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A   MISDIRECTED    MISSIONARY   EFFORT. 

FOR  several  days  Lena's  new  friends  kept  him  quite 
busy.  They  assured  him  of  steady  employment,  explain- 
ing that  officers  of  the  law,  who,  like  themselves,  could 
not  be  too  careful  to  keep  their  own  persons  out  of  sight, 
needed  some  assistant  who  was  well  known  and  trusted. 
The  work  made  necessary  by  the  pursuit  of  the  horse- 
thief  for  whom  they  were  ostensibly  in  search,  was 
various.  Among  other  things,  a  gun  was  necessary — 
they  had  forgotten  to  bring  their  fire-arms,  so  great  had 
been  their  hurry — and  Lem  'was  sent  to  the  principal 
settlement  in  the  adjoining  county  to  buy  one,  the  cost 
not  to  exceed  ten  dollars,  though  a  fifty  dollar  bill  was 
given  him  with  which  to  make  the  purchase.  Then 
Lem  was  instructed  to  hire  a  horse,  on  pretense  of  going 
to  see  a  cousin  in  still  another  county,  and  there  he  was 
to  purchase,  out  and  out,  three  as  good  horses  as  he 
could  find.  These  investments  were  made  only  after 


154  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

Lena  had  been  sent  into  Mount  Zion  on  every  conceiv- 
able errand  by  which  good  money  could  be  obtained  in 
exchange  for  counterfeits.  Mr.  Binkle  had  fulfilled  his 
intention  of  giving  Lem  fifty  dollars  for  his  mother,  the 
giving  having  been  preceded  by  a  drawing  from  Lem  of 
his  story,  and  by  a  copious  shower  of  tears  from  the 
sympathetic  Mr.  Binkle. 

As  for  Lem,  he  was  happy;  life  seemed  every  way 
delicious  to  him.  He  was  helping  his  mother;  he  was 
satisfying  his  employers;  he  had  at  last  found  some  one 
who  appreciated  him  and  remunerated  him  handsomely. 
There  was  something  delightful  about  the  secrecy  of  his 
new  business,  and  even  more  delightful  in  the  camping 
out  and  the  irregular  life  which  it  necessitated.  Money 
came -to  him  freely;  he  was  promised  a  regular  salary 
of  twenty-five  dollars  per  month,  but  before  he  had  been 
among  the  counterfeiters  a  week,  he  had  received,  in 
good  money,  and  as  special  gratuities  for  successful 
transactions,  the  equivalent  of  his  monthly  salary.  The 
conservative  Mr.  Lodge  murmured  considerably  about 
his  partner's  generosity,  and  finally  remarked: 

"You  might  pay  it  in  bad  money,  anyhow  —  he 
wouldn't  know  any  better." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  155 

"  Them  storekeepers  down  East,  where  his  mother'll 
spend  whatever  we  give  him,  would  spot  it  in  a  minute," 
replied  Mr.  Binkle,  "  and  then  we  might  lose  him.  You 
musen't  forget  the  first  principles  of  business,  Lodge, 
just  for  the  sake  of  being  careful." 

"  'Spose  we  lose  him  anyhow?"  growled  the  despond- 
ent partner. 

"  Then  we'll  have  got  rid  of  a  good  deal  more  than 
we  ever  did  in  such  a  little  while  before.  You  don't 
even  seem  to  think  that  we're  doin'  good  with  money  we 
give  him,  either." 

Mr.  Lodge  uttered  a  frightful  bark,  which  was  intend- 
ed for  sarcastic  laughter;  his  partner  so  understood  it, 
for  he  took  issue  with  him  at  once. 

"Now  look  here,  Lodge,  'tisn't  decent  in  you  to 
always  talk  and  act  as  if  we  were  the  hardest  cases  in 
the  world.  You  may  think  what  you  please  about  your- 
self, but  when  you're  thinkin'  up  abuse,  just  count  me 
out,  if  you  please.  I  know  shovin'  counterfeit  money 
isn't  accordin'  to  law,  but  I  hain't  got  the  same  notions 
on  finance  that  congressmen  and  legislators  have,  and 
when  I  get  a  chance  to  do  good,  and  it  don't  cost  more 
than  I  think  I  can  stand,  I'm  going  to  do  it,  and  I  ain't 


156  The  Jericho  Road  / 

ashamed  to  say  that  I  believe  it'll  be  passed  to  my 
credit.  Over  and  over  again  I've  heard  preachers  get  off 
sermons  on  the  text,  '  True  religion  and  undefiled  is  this : 
to  visit  the  fatherless  and  the  widows  in  their  affliction, 
and  to  keep  themselves  unspotted  from  the  world.'  I'm 
doin'  the  fust  half  of  that  by  givin'  Lem  plenty  of 
money  to  send  to  his  mother.  The  last  half  of  the  text 
—  well,  there's  lots  of  church  members  in  business 
that's  worse  than  me.  I  don't  drink,  I  don't  swear,  I 
don't  steal,  I  never  tell  dirty  stories,  no  woman  alive  can 
say  anything  against  me — " 

"  How  about  the  mother  of  that  boy  that  the  Regu- 
lators hung  in  Missouri,  for  shovin'  bad  money  that  you 
gave  him  to  spend?"  interrupted  Mr.  Lodge. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that  sort  of  thing  about  women,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Binkle,  quickly,  "  and  you  ain't  fair  in  throw- 
in'  it  up  to  me — you  know  I'd  have  got  him  the  best 
lawyer  in  the  country,  and  got  him  clear,  when  the  case 
came  for  trial,  or  I'd  have  hired  somebody  to  break  jail 
for  him ;  I  thought  a  great  deal  of  that  boy.  You  can 
throw  up  such  things  against  me  all  you've  a  mind  to — 
/  don't  care — once  in  grace,  always  in  grace,  and  I  know 
I  once  was  there.  What  bothers  me  is  that  you  don't 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  157 

pay  any  attention  to  such  things.  I  don't  like  to  pester 
you  about  'em,  because  it  always  makes  you  so  glum, 
but  I  do  feel  as  if  it  was  my  duty  sometimes.  You'd 
feel  a  good  deal  happier  if  you  were  to  have  a  hope  of 
something  better  in  another  world,  and  you  wouldn't  be 
so  awfully  scared  every  time  you  thought  anybody  was 
on  your  track.  A  man  don't  have  to  be  a  saint  because 
he's  a  Christian — everybody's  imperfect,  but  if  they 
trust  in  the  merits  of  Christ " 

"  O,  shut  up,  will  you?"  growled  the  impenitent  coun- 
terfeiter. 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  IVIr.  Binkle.  "  I  stand  everything 
you  say  to  me,  and  you  don't  always  mean  it  for  my 
good,  either;  what  I'm  saying  to  you  is  all  in  dead 
earnest  and  good  feeling,  and  there's  no  money  in  it  for 
me.  You  don't  'spose  I'm  enjoyin'  it,  talking  to  such  a 
determined  reprobate  as  you  are,  do  you  ?  I'm  doin'  it 
because  it's  for  your  good,  an'  because  it's  my  duty." 

"You're  a  model  preacher,  you  are,"  retorted  Mr. 
Lodge,  darker-faced  and  heavier-browed  than  ever. 
"  You  had  a  good  bringin'  up,  I  reckon,  from  what  you 
let  drop;  you  might  have  made  a  decent  livin'  any- 
where, but  you  took  to  counterfeit  money.  /  was  only 


158  The  Jericho  Road  / 

a  loafer — a  cross  between  half-breed  and  white  trash, 
and  I  never  hurt  anybody  but  myself,  except  when  I  got 
too  much  whisky  in  me  and  went  into  a  fight,  and  then 
I  never  gave  any  worse  than  I  took.  You  paid  a  fine 
for  me,  and  got  me  out  of  jail,  and  then  learned  me  this 
infernal  business ;  I  wish  you'd  left  me  in  jail ;  I  never 
felt  so  bad  there  as  I've  done  ever  since  I've  been  with 
you,  and  got  in  with  hoss-thieves  and  all  sorts  of  rascals, 
such  as  a  decent  drinkin'-shop  wouldn't  let  come  in 
doors.  Whenever  there's  been  any  ugly  work  to  do — 
puttin'  a  bullet  into  a  sheriff,  or  stealin'  horses  to  get 
out  of  the  country  with — I've  had  to  do  it.  You've 
spoiled  lots  of  other  fellers  in  the  same  way;  you've 
made  likely  young  farmers  turn  rascals;  you've  filled 
poor  people's  pockets  with  money  that  some  day  or  other 
they  find  out  is  counterfeit;  you've  spiled  boys  that 
might  have  made  decent  men  if  you'd  let  'em  alone — 
you  don't  ever  go  anywhere  but  somebody's  got  to  be  in 
risk  of  his  neck.  And  then  to  talk  religion  to  me! 
What  do  you  think  about  your  own  string? — ain't  it 
long  enough  to  take  up  your  whole  time?" 

Mr.  Binkle  had  winced  repeatedly  under  his  compan- 
ion's attack,  but  toward    tlu-  cud   lie   s<.inrwliat  ivn>\viv»l 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  159 

himself.  He  looked  thoughtfully,  almost  sentimentally, 
into  the  sky,  and  finally  sighed  out: 

"  I'm  a  miserable  sinner,  I  know." 

"  Glad  to  hear  you  own  up,"  growled  Lodge. 

"  Everybody  's  a  sinner,"  continued  Mr.  Binkle,  "  and 
I'm  not  going  to  try  to  sneak  out  of  my  share.  After  all 
said  and  done,  my  iniquities  rise  like  a  mountain." 

"  That's  somethin'  like,"  said  Mr.  Lodge. 

"  My  debt  to  divine  justice  is  such  as  I  can  never  be- 
gin to  repay " 

"  Pile  it  on — don't  be  afraid  of  making  it  too  thick," 
interrupted  Mr.  Lodge. 

"  But,"  continued  Mr.  Binkle,  his  voice  falling  a  little, 
and  his  words  coming  a  little  slower,  "  there's  one  com- 
fort; however  great  the  debt  is,  Jesus  paid  it  all." 

The  sentiment  to  which  Mr.  Binkle  gave  voice,  is  one 
which  has  released  countless  men  and  women  from  bond- 
age to  their  own  fears;  it  has  been  for  two  thousand 
years  the  last  hope,  and  at  times  the  only  encouragement, 
of  souls  full  of  honest  aspirations,  yet  painfully  conscious 
of  the  drawbacks  caused  by  their  own  imperfections;  it 
has  raised  millions  upon  millions  into  a  clearer  compre- 
hension of  the  possible  greatness  of  love,  and  of  love's 


160  The  Jericho  Road; 

legitimate  end,  than  nnaided  nature  could  ever  have 
given  them;  it  has  inspired  the  greatest  works  of  the 
greatest  artists;  it  has  melted  the  savage,  strengthened 
the  saint,  persuaded  the  sinner;  it  has  been  the  motive 
power  of  civilization's  mightiest  advances  during  ages 
in  which  imperfect  humanity  could  not  so  easily  compre- 
hend the  lesson  of  Christ's  life  as  that  of  his  death.  But, 
reduced  to  a  mere  cold,  commercial  condition,  as  in  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Binkle  and  many  another  utterly  selfish 
man  of  business  it  actually  is,  no  one  can  wonder  that  it 
does  not  take  possession  of  irreligious  persons  who  fall 
under  the  influence  of  such  men,  and  that  it  appears  to 
them  what  to  millions  of  mean  natures  it  actually  is — a 
substitute  for  conscience,  and  a  convenient  mask  to  con- 
ceal from  a  man  the  actual  lineaments  of  his  own  rascal- 
ities. And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Mr.  Lodge,  instead  of 
being  religiously  affected  by  the  speech  of  his  companion, 
bent  upon  that  gentleman  a  look  in  which  scorn,  curi- 
osity and  admiration  were  so  strangely  blended,  that  any 
painter  who  could  have  caught  Mr.  Lodge's  expression, 
might  have  gained  fame  and  fortune  for  himself. 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  161 


CHAPTEE    XVIII. 

THE   WISDOM   OF   SEKPENTS. 

"  DID  you  see  him  ?" 

"I  reckon." 

"  Is  he  up  to  business?" 

"0,  isn't  he!" 

"When?" 

"  Eight  off." 

"  Square?" 

"  Here's  the  two-fifty  advance." 

The  speakers  were  Messrs.  Binkle  and  Lodge,  the  lat- 
ter acting  as  interrogator.  As  Mr.  Binkle  made  the 
final  reply  recorded  above,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  roll 
of  bank-notes,  which  Bill  Hixton  had  paid  him  in  ad- 
vance for  the  still-to-be-performed  service  of  securing 
his  escape  from  jail.  Mr.  Lodge  exanlined  the  notes 
closely,  and  finally  remarked: 

"  They  all  seem  to  be  good."   . 

"  Of  course  they're  good,"  replied  Mr.  Binkle,  "  you 


162  The  Jericho  Road; 

never  heard  of  Bill  Hixton  playin'  a  trick  in  a  business 
transaction,  did  you?" 

Mr.  Lodge  did  not  deign  to  reply,  but  said,  instead: 

"  Lets  put  the  boy  up  to  it,  right  away." 

"Just  the  way  we  agreed  on?"  asked  Binkle. 

"  I  'spose  there's  nothin'  better,"  said  the  non-com- 
mittal Lodge. 

"Here  he  comes  now,"  said  Mr.  Binkle,  "not  too 
quick,  now." 

Lem  appeared  from  the  direction  of  the  town,  where 
he  had  been  to  forward  to  his  mother  his  latest  accumu- 
lations. As  was  his  custom,  he  seated  himself  at  some 
distance  from  his  employees,  to  give  them  an  opportu- 
nity to  discuss  their  (supposed)  professional  duties. 

"  Come  along,  Lem  —  no  secrets  here  to-night," 
shouted  Mr.  Binkle.  Lem  accepted  the  invitation,  and 
stretched  himself  upon  the  ground,  near  the  bed  of  hot 
coals  which  the  financial  operators  had  cherished.  Mr. 
Binkle  was  staring  into  the  fire  with  a  most  virtuous 
expression  of  countenance,  while  his  partner  was  nursing 
the  bandaged  ankle.  Both  counterfeiters  were  silent  for 
some  moments;  then  Mr.  Binkle  groaned,  and  remarked: 

"It's  an  infernal  shame." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  163 

"  That's  so,"  responded  his  partner. 

"Bill  Hixton  would  make  a  splendid  man;  he's  got 
in  him  the  stuff  for  a  lawyer,  or  even  a  preacher,  if  he 
would  just  stick  to  decent  ways,  and  stop  making  trouble 
for  us — officers  of  the  law." 

"  "What's  he  up  to  ?"  asked  Lem,  recognizing  the  name, 
and  showing  himself  full  of  interest  at  once. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Binkle.  "But  I  dropped 

into  county  jail  to-day,  to  see  if  anybody  else  had 

caught  the  man  we're  lookin'  for,  an'  there  was  Bill.  It 
made  me  feel  bad." 

"What  d'ye  'spose  he'd  go  at  if  he  got  out?"  asked 
Mr.  Lodge. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Binkle,  whipping  his 
own  pantaloons  as  he  meditated.  "  I  argued  with  him 
that  he  was  makin'  a  fool  of  himself,  stealin'  hosses  for 
a  livin',  when  he  was  so  fit  to  adorn  society,  and  he 
owned  up  he  was  ashamed  of  himself." 

"  He's  a  good  man,"  exclaimed  Lem.  "  He  done  more 
for  me  than  anybody  else  ever  did,  and  he  never  saw  me 
before,  either." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Binkle,  with  a  resigned  sigh,  "if 
there's  any  good  in  him,  he'll  get  a  chance  to  show  it  out 


164  The  Jericho  Road; 

pretty  soon — that's  my  opinion.  His  cell  window  is 
broader  and  deeper  than  he  is,  and  it'll  be  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  for  somebody  to  pass  him  in  a  good 
flat  file,  like  that  one  I  took  from  a  horse-thief  and 
dropped  under  the  toll-house  the  other  day.  If  some- 
body w^as  to  give  him  such  a  file,  and  stand  outside  to 
help  him  when  'he  tried  to  wriggle  out,  I  believe  Bill 
would  be  where  nobody  could  find  him  in  less  than  six 
hours." 

"Like  enough  then  he'd  go  right  back  to  his  old 
ways,"  said  the  desponding  Mr.  Lodge. 

"Depends  on  who  lets  him  out,"  said  Mr.  Binkle. 
"If  it  should  be  one  of  his  old  gang,  he'd  oif  an'  steal  a 
hoss  within  two  hours ;  if  it  was  a  man  that  really  cared 
for  him,  an'  would  give  him  a  little  moral  lecture,  he'd 
like  as  not  break  for  some  new  country  an'  join  the 
church." 

"Well!"  groaned  Mr.  Lodge,  again  squeezing  his 
bandaged  ankle,  "  I  guess  there  ain't  any  chance  for  him. 
It's  too  bad,  but  he  ain't  the  kind  of  feller  that  decent 
men  takes  a  risk  on,  an'  tain't  the  thing  for  officers  of  the 
law  to  think  about  as  happenin'  any  way." 

"  I  don't  know  'bout  that,"  said  Mr.  Binkle.     "  It's  so 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  165 

easily  done  that  it's  our  business  as  officers  to  think  it 
over  and  scare  Tip  some  new  way  of  makin'  prisoners 
more  secure  in  jail.  Suppose,  now,  that  Bill  had  a  friend 
at  Mount  Zion,  or  any  other  place  as  near  to  the  jail  that 
he's  in.  It's  about  eleven  miles;  they  could  go  quietly 
along  in  the  timber  by  daylight,  hang  around  in  the 
edge  of  the  town  till  midnight,  get  Tom  out  in  two 
hours,  and  be  back  home  an'  in  bed  'fore  daylight.  That 
ain't  the  way  that  jails  ought  to  be—nobody  watchin' 
the  roads,  or  anything." 

"  It's  too  bad,  anyhow,"  said  Mr.  Lodge,  "  but  it  isn't 
business.  S'pose  we  go  down  the  river  road  for  a  couple 
of  days  an'  see  if  we  can't  catch  our  man.  It'll  give 
Lem  a  chance  to  rest,  and  he  hasn't  had  one  lately." 
"  It's  a  game,"  said  Mr.  Binkle.  "  Let's  start  at  once." 
Lem  did  his  best  to  help  his  employers  off.  Two  of 
the  new  horses  were  saddled,  and  the  third  was  led. 
Lem  assisted  Mr.  Lodge  into  the  saddle,  and  the  party 
started.  'No  sooner  was  it  out  of  sight,  than  Lem  was 
under  the  toll-gate  house,  searching  for  the  file  of  which 
his  respected  partner  had  spoken.  He  heard  a  rustling 
in  the  underbrush,  and  started  out  guiltily,  but  it  was 
only  Mr.  Binkle,  who  said: 


166  The  Jericho  Road; 

"  Meet  us  here,  Lem,  say  on  the  morning  after  day 
after  to-morrow — we  may  catch  our  man,  and  then  you'd 
be  useful.  Get  plenty  of  sleep  between  now  and  then 
if  you  can — it  may  come  in  handy." 

Mr.  Binkle  rode  away,  and  Lem  plunged  into  the 
bushes  beside  the  road  to  Friendlytown,  where  Hixton 
was  confined. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  167 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

FKIENDS   IN   COUNCIL. 

On  a  cool  Autumn  evening,  Mr.  William  Hixton  lay 
on  the  uninviting  bed  of  the  only  cell  in  Friendlytown 
jail,  and  indulged  in  bitter  reflections.  He  should  have 
been  asleep;  other  people  slept.  There  was  not  even  a 
streak  of  light  visible  under  the  door  of  any  liquor-shop 
in  the  town.  A  volunteer  orchestra  of  owls  and  other 
night-birds,  assisted  by  a  chorus  of  frogs,  dogs  and  mos- 
quitos,  was  emitting  chords  discordant  enough  to  drive 
one  to  sleep  in  pure  self-defense.  But  Mr.  Hixton 
failed  to  sleep,  from  any  cause  whatever.  He  solilo- 
quised and  he  swore;  the  latter  operation  is  unworthy  of 
repetition,  but  the  results  of  the  former  conveyed  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  information  which  the  reader  may  possi- 
bly find  available. 

"  Court'll  sit — let's  see — day  after  to-morrow,  as  sure 
as  I'm  alive,  and  there  ain't  a  lawyer  on  the  circuit  that's 
smart  enough  to  get  me  off,  even  if  the  Regulators  don't 


163  The  Jericho  Road ; 

snatch  me  out  and  string  me  up  to  a  tree  before  that.  If 
Binkle's  little  game  works,  all  right;  if  it  should  hang 
fire,  I'd  be  worse  off  than  I  am  now.  Darn  it,  it  would 
be  tough  to  string  me  up,  if  I  am  a — a  dealer  in  hoss- 
flesh.  Queer  how  things  go  in  this  world;  I've  never 
done  anything  but  make  off  with  a  few  horses,  and  yet 
I'm  in  jail,  while  there's  Binkle,  that's  made  a  hundred 
times  as  much  money  in  a  way  that  ain't  any  better,  has 
never  been  caught  at  it  yet.  There's  something  wrong 
in  the  way  this  world's  managed.  Hello!  what's  that?" 

Mr.  Hixton's  soliloquy  had  been  interrupted  by  a 
sharp,  low  whistle.  The  prisoner  put  under  the  cell 
window  a  stool^upon  which  he  sprang,  and  stood  on 
tip-toe. 

"I  don't  know  that  whistle,"  said  he,  after  scanning 
the  jail-yard  intently  for  some  minutes.  "  Confound  it, 
this  world 's  so  dishonest  that  nobody  knows  who  to  trust. 
Mebbe  Binkle's  sent  some  green  man — mebbe,  again, 
it's  some  of  them  infernal  Regulators.  If  they  come,  I 
wonder  how  many  there'll  be  of  'em?  Them  two  revolv- 
ers that  Binkle  left  me  would  clean  out  a  common  crowd 
— I  don't  believe  anybody  else  in  this  God-forsaken 
country  has  got  a  revolver,  or  knows  what  one  is.  And 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  169 

my  knife — oh,  I  guess  I  could  get  out,  but  then  there'd 
be  the  job  of  hidin'.  Dog-gone  it,  why  can't  they  let 
business  men  alone?" 

Again  the  horse-thief  heard  the  whistle,  and  at  the 
same  moment  there  was  a  shadow  at  his  cell  window, 
and  something  fell  with  a  sharp  metallic  ring  upon  the 
floor.  * 

"A  file,  bless  the  Lord!"  exclaimed  the  thief,  groping 
on  the  floor  with  his  hands.  Suddenly  a  slight  rustling 
and  another  metallic  jingle  was  heard,  and  the  file  was 
snatched  up  to  and  out  of  the  grating  again.  The 
horse-thief  let  slip  a  violent  exclamation,  and  sprang 
upon  his  stool  beneath  the  grating.  At  the  same  time 
another  face  appeared  outside  the  grating.  The  two 
shadows  confronted  each  other,  and  indulged  in  the  fol- 
lowing dialogue: 

"You  know  what  that  was?  'Twas  a  file — you  could 
cut  your  way  out  with  that  in  an  hour  or  two." 

"  I  know  it.     Why  the didn't  you  leave  it  there 

after  you  got  it  in? " 

"  'Cos  I  want  to  talk  to  you  fust.     If  I  help  you  get 
out,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do?" 
8 


170  The  Jericho  Road; 

"  Goin'  to  do  ? — I'm  goin'  to  get  out  of  this  neighbor- 
hood as  soon  as  I  can,  and  stay  out  of  it." 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  for  a  livin'?  That's  what 
I  mean." 

"  Do  what  I  always  done,  I  s'pose." 

"You  musn't — it  ain't  right.  There's  folks — smart 
folks,  that  ought  to  know— that  say  you're  gtfod  for 
something  better." 

"  I  wish  they'd  give  me  a  chance  at  it,  then." 

"  Will  you  use  it  if  you  get  it?" 

"Yes,  I  will." 

"What'llyoudo?"- 

"  Go  to  Texas  and  raise  stock." 

"Have  you  got  any  family?" 

"Yes — I've  got  a curse  you,  I  believe  you're  an 

officer." 

"No  I  ain't." 

"  You're  tryin'  the  friendly  dodge  to  get  information 
out  of  me  to  use  against  me.  You  needn't  come  any  of 
your  infernal  high  moral  tricks  on  me — I'm  up  to  trap." 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  me.  I'll  stick  tighter  to 
you  than  any  friend  you've  got,  if  you'll  only  not  hurt 
me  after  you  get  out  by  goin'  back  to — to — " 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  171 

"Iloss-stealin?" 

"  I  'spose  that's  the  only  name  for  it.  Mebbe  if  I  get 
you  out  Pll  get  caught,  an'  be  sent  to  States  prison. 
An'  I'm  willin.'  Only — have  you  got  any  family?" 

"  I've  got  a  mother,  but  you  won't  find  out  anything 
more  until — " 

"  I  don't  want  to  find  out  anything  more.  But  just 
think  how  happy  you'd  make  her —  a  big,  smart  feller 
like  you — if  you'd  only  do  what's  right.  There's  fellers 
that's  got  mothers  an'  ain't  fit  to  be  any  comfort  to  'em, 
an'  they  just  envy  you,  and  wish  they  had  your  grit  and 
headpiece.  They  don't  take  to  hoss-stealin' — they  hang 
around,  starvin'  and  hopin,  an'  gettin'  scared  to  death." 

"Have  you  got  a  mother?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  you  shan't  help  me  out.  Go  away.  Tie  the 
string  with  the  file  on  it  to  the  gratin' — I  won't  draw  it 
in  till  you're  safe  out  of  sight." 

"  I  won't  do  it — you  mightn't  get  safe  to  the  ground, 
and  if  you  got  lamed  you  might  get  catched." 

"  Go  away,  any  how — I'd  rather  run  my  chance  than 
get  you  in  jail  'cause  I  got  out.  I  don't  mind  tellin'  you 
that  somebody  else  is  goin'  to  get  me  out  if  you  don't. 


172  The  Jericho  Road; 

I'm  safe — go  along,  but  you  might  leave  the  string 
where  I  can  reach  it." 

"  You  won't  go  back  to  the  old  business,  even  if  some- 
body else  let's  you  out,  will  you?" 

"No — I  swear  to  God  I  won't." 

There  was  a  slight  rustle  of  the  garments  of  the 
shadow  outside  the  grating;  then  a  small  black  square 
shadow  appeared  beside  the  larger  one  outside;  it  was 
thrust  through  the  grating,  with  the  words — 

"  Kiss  the  book." 

The  sound  of  moving  lips  was  heard. 

"  You  might  as  well  keep  the  book  now  you've  got  it," 
whispered  the  outer  shadow.  "  1  ain't  an  extra-good 
reader,  an'  there's  things  in  it  that  I  don't  make  out,  but 
they  say  it's  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  men  that's 
tryin'  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  Here's  the  file — remem- 
ber your  mother.  I'll  sneak  up  an'  help  you  out  when 
you're  ready." 

"Steady!" -whispered  the  other  shadow.  "Give  me 
your  hand — count  on  me  for  life.  Who  are  you  ? — how 
can  I  let  you  know  where  I  get  to,  and  how  can  you 
reach  me  if  you  ever  need  money  or  friends  ? " 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  173 

(i  I'm  the  feller  you  gave  a  hoss  to  once,  an'  then  saved 
him  from  the  Regulators." 

"Great  God!"  exclaimed  the  other  shadow.  Then  it 
snatched  the  file  and  began  work,  with  an  energy  not 
justly  attributable  to  shadows. 

At  the  same  moment  a  figure  glided  away  from  the 
inner  door  of  the  cell,  where  it  had  been  crouching  dur- 
ing the  entire  conversation.  It  passed  through  the  nar- 
row hall- way  which  separated  the  cell  from  the  jailor's 
apartments,  noiselessly  opened  a  door,  slipped  rapidly 
along  the  wall,  and  peered  around  the  corner  of  the 
building  in  time  to  see  Lem  crouch  behind  a  barrel  near 
the  fence.  Then  the  figure  withdrew  its  head,  passed 
under  cover  of  the  jail  to  a  street,  went  noiselessly  and 
with  bare  feet  through  the  street,  down  an  alley,  and  into 
another  alley,  on  one  side  of  which  was  the  high  board 
fence  of  the  jail. 

The  scene  which  here  met  his  eye  did  not  seem  to  sur- 
prise him,  but  it  was  nevertheless  unusual  and  peculiar. 
Fifteen  or  twenty  men — all  of  them  respectable,  hard- 
working citizens,  and  some  of  them  church-members  — 
were  ranged  along  the  fence,  peering  through  cracks  and 
knot-holes,  and  each  man  held  a  pistol  of  some  sort. 


174  The  Jericho  Road; 

The  new-comer  glided  along  the  line,  scrutinizing  each 
man,  and  receiving  friendly  nods  in  return.  At  length 
he  seemed  to  find  the  man  for  whom  he  was  search- 
ing, and,  laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  exclaimed: 

"  Major,  this  thing's  got  to  stop." 

"  Why,  what  in  thunder's  the  matter,  Sheriff,"  whis- 
pered the  Major,  straightening  himself  up,  and  pocket- 
ing his  pistol,  while  two  or  three  other  men  approached 
them  and  thrust  their  heads  forward. 

"  I  can't  easily  tell  what's  up,"  said  the  Sheriff.  "  I 
wish  you'd  all  heard  it  for  yourself.  I've  heard  enough 
to  make  me  Bill  Hixton's  friend.  There  ain't  to  be  any 
lynching  around  here  to-night.  I'll  stop  his  breakin' 
out,  if  you  say  so,  but  if  I  do  you've  got  to  agree  not  to 
break  in." 

"  Can't  you  tell  what  the you're  drivin'  at?"  de- 
manded the  man  upon  whose  horse  Lem  was  riding  a 
few  months  before,  when  he  was  captured  by  the  Regu- 
lators. 

The  Sheriff  seemed  to  swallow  something,  not  with 
the  greatest  success;  then  he  spoke  in  a  low,  doggLMl 
tone: 

"It's  just  this;  that  chap  that's  liclpiiT  liiin   is   the 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  175 

poor  little  cuss  that  Bill  gave  your  hoss  to,  and  that  the 
rest  of  the  crowd  came  near  hangin',  only  that  Bill  was 
man  enough  to  come  in  and  tell  the  truth,  and  get  some 
cold  lead  for  his  pains." 

"  Then  the  little  scoundrel  was  in  with  Bill  and  his 
gang,"  said  the  Major.  "  That's  just  the  way  us  fellows 
let  business  slip  through  our  fingers  when  we're  excited." 

"  No,  he  wasn't,"  replied  the  Sheriff.  "  Bill  didn't 
know  who  he  was  to-night  till  the  very  last  minute. 
And  the  way  that  little  cuss  preached  to  him — why  it 
would  have  converted  the  devil,  he  was  so  infernally  in 
earnest  about  it." 

"Bill  Hixton  's  worse  than  the  devil,"  whispered  Gar- 
man.  "  Who  ever  caught  the  devil  prowlin'  around  an' 
stealin'  honest  farmers'  hosses  ? " 

"  Well,  Bill 's  a  man  of  his  word,  any  way,"  said  the 
sheriff,  "  an  he  gave  that  boy  his  word  that  if  he  got  out 
he'd  give  up  the  road,  and  go  to  Texas  and  raise  stock. 
And  what  do  you  think? — that  little  cuss  was  so  sharp 
that  he  stuck  a  Testament  through  the  window,  and 
made  Bill  swear  on  it."  » 

"  If  he  comes  to  trial,"  said  the  Major,  reflectively, 
"  he'll  get  the  full  term — twenty  years.  He'd  rather  be 


176  The  Jericho  Road; 

hung  by  Regulators  than  stay  in  jail  that  long,  if  there's 
any  live  spirit  in  him.  And  then  if  he  ever  did  break 
out,  he'd  be  worse  than  ever — men  always  grow  worse 
in  jail  than  they  do  anywhere  else." 

"Why  not  let  him  get  out  to-night?"  said  the  Sheriff. 
"I'm  the  one  it'll  come  hardest  on;  I'll  lose  my  re- 
election by  it,  and  p'raps  get  something  worse.  You 
fellows  haven't  got  anything  to  lose  by  it." 

"  I  didn't  lose  a  hoss  by  him,  I  s'pose? "  growled  Gar- 
man. 

"  You've  got  him  back,  and  a  decent  saddle  with  him," 
retorted  the  Sheriff;  "you  may  steal  my  horse  every 
week  on  those  terms,  if  you  like." 

One  by  one  the  Regulators  left  their  points  of  observa- 
tion and  clustered  about  the  speakers,  until  only  one 
man  remained  watching  the  jail.  Suddenly  the  watcher 
cocked  his  pistol;  in  an  instant  the  Sheriff  snatched  it 
away.  Looking  through  a  knot-hole,  he  saw  the  prison- 
er's head  and  shoulders  emerging  from  the  window,  while 
Lem  stood  on  a  box  beneath  the  window,  trying  to  assist. 

"  Boys,"  said  the  Sheriff,  rapidly  and  hoarsely, "  let 
him  go.  I  swear  here  before  the  whole  crowd  to  own 
up  to  the  whole  trick  myself,  if  Bill's  ever  heard  of 
again  as  being  at  his  old  tricks.  I'll— 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  177 

"  He's  getting  out,"  whispered  a  man  on  the  look-out. 
"Duty!  boys— duty!" 

Fully  half  the  men  sprang  toward  the  fence.  The 
Sheriff  snatched  his  pistols  from  his  pocket,  ran  back 
and  forth,  pushing  men  back,  as  he  whispered — almost 
hissed: 

"  There,  I'll  do  my  duty.  By  virtue  of  the  authority 
in  me  vested  by  the  State  of  Illinois,  I  command  you  to 
disperse,  and  allow  me  to  re-capture  my  prisoner.  These 
pistols  are  revolvers — six  shots  apiece.  I'll  shoot  the 
first  man  who  lays  a  hand  on  or  fires  a  shot  at  my 
prisoner  —  so  help  me  God !  " 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  Sheriff,  if  you  mean  to  re- 
capture," said  the  Major  with  exquisite  blandness,  after 
a  moment,  in  which  every  one  had  dropped  his  pistol- 
hand.  "You  agree  to  call  on  us  if  you  need  help  to 
grab  him?" 

"  Yes,"  whispered  the  Sheriff,  peering  through  a  crack 
in  the  fence.  "Here  he  comes — the  little  chap  with 
him — they're  talkin' — now  listen  for  yourselves." 

Everybody  squeezed  close  to  the  fence.  The  horse- 
thief  and  his  deliverer  reached  a  corner  of  the  fence  and 
halted.  Hixton  faced  Lem  and  put  out  his  hand. 


178  The  Jericho  Road ; 

"  You're  the  first  real  friend  I  ever  had  in  my  life," 
said  the  thief,  "  and  I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you 
enough." 

"  You  don't  owe  me  anything,"  said  Lem,  "  only  don't 
get  into  the  old  business  again.  .Remember  your 
mother." 

"  I  wish  I  had  something  to  give  you,"  said  Hixton, 
but  I  gave  all  my  money  to  a  counterfeiter  the  other  day, 
to  have  me  got  out;  and  the  Sheriff  seems  to  have  found 
my  revolvers  and  packed  'em  out  on  the  sly — I  couldn't 
find  'em  just  now  when  I  got  ready  to  leave." 

"  I'll  give  you  the  money  Pve  got — you  can  send  it  to 
my  mother — Mrs.  Pankett,  Middle  Backville,  New  York, 
when  you  earn  it,  honestly,"  said  Lem. 

"I  won't  take  it,"  said  Hixton.  "I  can  work  my 
way  wherever  I  go.  Look  here,  boy,  you  want  to  look 
out  for  yourself.  There's  hard  cases  in  this  part  of  the 
State  just  now,  and  you're  the  sort  of  a  fellow  they'll 
get  for  to  do  their  dirty  work  for  'em.  If  you  see  any 
strangers  with  plenty  of  money,  shy  off  from  'em, — 
you  hear?" 

"Never  mind  me,"  said  Lem;  "remember  everything 
you've  promised." 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  179 

"  If  this  thing  should  be  tracked  to  you,"  said  the 
thief,  "  I'll  hear  about  it  some  way,  and  see  that  you're 
helped  to  break  out." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to,"  said  Lem.  "  'Twould  get  you 
in  with  your  old  crowd  again.  I'd  rather  be  tried  and 
go  to  the  penitentiary  than  have  you  do  that." 

Outside  the  fence,  Mr.  Garman  slipped  up  to  the 
sheriff,  and  whispered: 

"Let  him  go,  Sheriff,  for  the  boy's  sake — he's  clear 
grit." 

"  Good-bye,  my  boy — time's  flyin',  and  I  must  have 
my  tracks  covered  before  daylight,"  said  the  thief. 

Lem  dropped  on  his  knees  and  leaned  against  Hixton. 
"  You're  the  best  friend  /  ever  had,"  said  he.  "  I  hope 
I'll  see  you  again  some  day." 

The  horse-thief  stooped  and  put  his  hands  on  the 
boy's  head.  "I'll  keep  track  of  you"  said  he,  "and  if 
I  don't  behave  myself  for  any  other  reason,  I'll  do  it  to 
oblige  the  only  man  who  ever  put  himself  out  on  my 
account.  Now,  travel — I  won't  get  over  this  fence  till  I 
see  you  off — our  roads  don't  run  the  same  way." 

Lem  hurried  off  to  the  front  of  the  yard;  at  the  same 
time  the  Major  approached  the  sheriff  and  whispered: 


180  The  Jericho  Road; 

"  Let  him  off  for  his  own  sake !" 

The  thief  climbed  the  fence;  the  Sheriff  still  held  his 
pistols,  seeing  which  Mr.  Garman  quietly  seized  one 
arm  and  the  Major  the  other.  The  thief  reached  the  top 
of  the  fence,  saw  the  crowd,  and  growled: 

"  "Who  the  devil  are  youf" 

"'Friends,"  replied  the  Major,  "who  were  going  to 
lynch  you  half  an  hour  ago.  Get  out!" 

Mr.  Hixton  followed  his  instructions  with  praise- 
worthy alacrity. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  181 


CHAPTER    XX. 

IN   WHICH    THE    HEEO    STICKS   TO    HIS   FRIENDS. 

WHEN  Lem  approached  Mount  Zion  through  the  early 
dawn  of  the  following  morning,  it  was  with  aching  head 
and  wearj  limbs.  Whatever  qualms  of  conscience  he 
had  suffered  during  his  long  walk  were  lost  in  a 
mind  never  strong,  and  now  too  exhausted  to  consider 
questions  of  causistry.  Reaching  the  abandoned  toll- 
house, he  dropped  upon  the  floor,  and  was  asleep  in  an 
instant. 

How  long  he  slept  he  did  not  know,  but  he  was  finally 
aroused  by  feeling  hands  in  his  pockets.  Opening  his 
eyes,  he  found  the  hands  belonged  to  the  Sheriff  of  his 
own  county,  while  that  officer's  deputy  sat  upon  the  floor 
a  few  paces  away.  Lem  started  up  and  the  Sheriff  re- 
treated a  step  or  two,  looking  at  the  startled  boy  with  an 
expression  of  the  most  sincere  sorrow. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  you,  Lena,"  said  the  Sheriff ; 
."sorrier  than  I  ever  was  for  anybody,  except  that  splen- 
did steamboat  clerk  that  I  had  to  hang  for  killing  a  man. 


182  The  J&icho  Rood; 

I  never  supposed  you'd  come  down  to  running  counter- 
feits on  people." 

"  I  haven't,"  said  Lem,  indignantly. 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  know  about  it,"  replied  the  Sheriff, 
"  but  it  looks  bad ;  there's  four  or  five  bills  been  traced 
back  to  you,  and  I've  got  a  warrant  for  your  arrest,  and 
I  searched  you  while  you  were  asleep,  thinking  you 
mightn't  feel  so  bad  about  it  as  if  you  were  awake. 
You  don't  seem  to  have  any  bad  money  about  you  now. 
Suppose,  now,  you  explain  how  you  got  the  bills  that 
you  spent  in  town,  and  maybe  you  can  clear  yourself  be- 
fore the  thing  can  be  made  public." 

Lem  looked  vacant,  then  confused,  then  dogged  and 
sullen.  The  Sheriff  watched  his  face  closely,  and  finally 
asked: 

"You  didn't  know  they  were  counterfeits,  did  you ?" 

"  No,"  said  Lem  with  such  vehemence  that,  added  to 
the  look  of  outraged  innocence  his  face  took  on,  almost 
assured  the  officer  that  Lem  was  guiltless. 

"Where  did  you  get  them,  then?"  asked  the  Sheriff. 

Lem  pondered  a  moment,  and  replied:  "If  I  tell, 
other  folks'll  be  arrested  the  same  way,  I  s'pose.  I 
won't  do  it.  Besides,  they'll  tell  themselves  when  tlu-v 
find  that  I've  got  into  trouble  about  it." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  183 

"  I  hope  they  will,  any  way,"  said  the  Sheriff,  "  but 
until  the  matter's  cleared  up,  I'll  have  to  hold  you  a 
prisoner." 

"Will— will  I  have  to  go  to  jail?"  asked  Lem.  The 
Sheriff  nodded  gravely,  and  the  unhappy  prisoner 
dropped  his  head.  Though  he  drew  his  hat  down  over 
his  eyes,  the  Sheriff  soon  saw  tears  trickling  down  Lem's 
face. 

" I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Lem,"  said  the  Sheriff,  "I'll 
leave  you  Jiere,  with  Turner  to  watch  you,  until  dark; 
then  he  can  bring  you  up  to  the  jail  without  anybody 
seeing  you.  And  I'll  not  let  on  in  town  that  we've 
found  you,  and  I'll  say  everywhere  that  I  don't  believe 
you  knew  anything  about  the  kind  of  money  you  were 
passing —  I  don't  believe  it,  either." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Lem ;  "  and  like  enough 
it'll  be  all  explained  away  before  then." 

""Well,  Turner,  you  look  out  for  him,"  said  the  Sheriff. 
"Have  you  got  a  deck  of  cards  with  you?" 

"  I  reckon,"  said  the  deputy. 

"Got  pipes  and  tobacco?" 

"  Only  one  pipe." 

"  I'll  lend  Lem  mine,  then,"  said  the  Sheriff,  producing 


184:  The  Jericho  Road; 

a  clay  bowl  with  a  reed  stem.  "  Lem,  my  boy,  will  you 
give  me  your  word  that  you  won't  try  to  run?  I'm  do- 
ing what  I  can  for  you" 

"Yes,  I  will,  Sheriff,"  said  Lem.  "I'm  not  afraid  of 
anything  happening  to  "keep  me  in  jail,  and  I'd  rather  be 
cleared  in  town  than  run  away  an'  dodge  it." 

"Hurrah  for  he!"  said  the  Sheriff.  "I  guess  you'll 
come  out  all  right.  Now  I'll  put.  I've  been  hanging 
around  here  all  night." 

The  afternoon  wore  away  rapidly.  Lem  smoked  more 
than  his  weak  head  could  stand  with  comfort,  and 
played  old  sledge  very  steadily,  for  whatever  intervals  of 
thought  he  had  were  not  comforting  in  their  results. 
He  hoped  Binkle  and  Lodge  would  return,  and  at  once 
clear  him,  as  they  undoubtedly  could.  Once  there  came 
into  his  head,  as  quickly  and  painfully  as  he  imagined  a 
bullet  might  have  done,  Bill  Hixton's  parting  remark 
about  strangers  with  plenty  of  money.  Could  it  be  that 
his  friends  were  not  officers  after  all?  Might  they  not 
be  dealers  in  bad  money?  The  thought  was  so  terrible 
that  he  absent-mindedly  played  his  knave  upon  his  com- 
panion's queen,  though  he  had  two  smaller  trumps  in  his 
hand. 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  185 

Suddenly,  as  both  men  had  their  heads  together,  try- 
ing to  light  fresh  pipes  with  the  same  match,  there  was 
a  shadow  cast  from  the  doorway  toward  which  the 
deputy  had  his  back;  before  the  officer  could  look 
around  to  ascertain  the  cause,  he  received  a  tremendous 
blow  on  the  head,  which  knocked  him  senseless,  while 
Lem,  looking  up,  beheld  Bill  Hixton. 

"  Get  out  that  door  and  onto  my  horse — he's  where 
your  bosses  used  to  tie  theirs — and  gallop  down  to  New 
Philadelphia;  there's  a  boat  just  leaving  Mount  Zion, 
and  you'll  catch  it  if  you  gallop  lively.  Here's  money — 
plenty  of  it — don't  stop  till  you  reach  Yicksburgh — I'll 
meet  you  there  in  a  week  or  two." 

"  I  won't  do  it,"  said  Lem. 

Mr.  Hixton  straightened  himself  from  the  stooping 
posture  in  which  he  had  been  blindfolding  and  tying  the 
unconscious  deputy,  and  stared  fixedly  at  Lem.  Recov- 
ering his  tongue,  he  asked: 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  my  bosses  '11  clear  me  when  they  get  back, 
an'  I'm  not  goin'  away  with  a  bad  name." 

The  ex-thief  picked  Lem  up  as  if  he  had  been  a  baby, 
carried  him  through  the  underbrush  to  where  the  horse 
was  tied,  saying  as  he  walked: 


186  The  Jericho  Road ; 

"Tour  bosses,  Binkle  and  Lodge,  are  the  smartest 
shovers  of  counterfeit  money  in  the  whole  West — they've 
been  playing  it  on  you  this  week  or  so.  I  met  'em  not 
three  hours  ago,  and  heard  all  about  it.  ..They'd  heard 
about  the  warrant  out  for  you,  and  I  believe  they  were 
both  real  sorry  for  you,  but  they're  a  couple  of  infernal 
cowards,  and  wouldn't  try  to  rescue  you.  They  talked 
about  lettin'  you  go  to  jail,  and  then  hiring  somebody  to 
break  you  out.  I  told  'em  Pd  'tend  to  that  job.  Now 
gallop  your  liveliest,  and  do  as  I  tell  you  to." 

"I  gave  the  Sheriff  my  word  that  I  wouldn't  run 
away,"  said  Lem. 

Ilixton  set  Lem  upon  the  horse,  and  drew  a  pistol. 

"  Mind  me!  "  said  he. 

Lem  looked  at  the  pistol,  and  shuddered;  then  he 
asked : 

"Where  did  you  get  this  horse?" 

"  Bought  him — I'm  a  man  of  my  word,  youngster." 

"Where  did  you  get  the  money?" 

"  Of  Binkle." 

"Counterfeit?" 

"  No— he  owed  me  two  hundred  and  fifty,  good  money, 
that  I  paid  him  to  do  what  he  didn't  do;  he  was  to  have 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  187 

sent  somebody  to  break  me  out  of  jail.  He  made  be- 
lieve he  sent  you,  and  told  me  how  he  put  the  notion  in 
your  head,  but  when  I  told  him  of  the  way  that  you  and 
me  had  met  twice  before,  he  owned  up  beat,  and  shelled 
out  the  money.  Now  look  here,  my  boy,  you've  saved 
my  neck,  but  I  once  saved  yours,  and  I  demand  a  favor 
of  you.  Do  as  I  tell  you,  and  get  out  of  this  country. 
You  can't  do  any  good  by  stayin' — if  you  go,  you  can 
count  on  me  for  life,  and  see  your  folks  well  taken  care  of. 
If  you  don't  go,  I'll  get  on  this  horse,  ride  into  town, 
give  myself  up  to  the  Sheriff,  and  swear  that  /  run  that 
money  on  you!" 

Lem  gathered  up  the  reins,  Hixton  pulled  a  twig  from 
a  tree  and  gave  the  horse  a  sharp  cut,  and  away  dashed 
the  animal  at  a  pace  which  compelled  Lem  to  hold 
tightly  to  mane  and  saddle  to  keep  from  falling. 

"  Tie  him  in  front  of  the  warehouse  at  New  Philadel- 
phia," shouted  Hixton;  then  he  exclaimed  in  a  deep 
undertone:  "Thunder!  that  infernal  deputy  sheriff  must 
have  heard  that — I'll  have  to  put  Mm  where  his  boss 
can't  find  him." 


188  The  Jericho  Road; 


OHAPTEK    XXI. 

PUBLIC    OPINION. 

BAD  news  and  damaging  reports  traveled  as  rapidly 
at  Mount  Zion  as  they  ever  did  in  the  best  society,  so  it 
came  to  pass  that  everybody  soon  knew  the  worst  about 
Lem,  and,  apparently,  a  great  deal  in  addition  to  the 
truth.  The  news  was  undoubtedly  received  with  sincere 
regret  by  many  good  people,  but  these  were  of  the  kind 
who  did  not  enjoy  gossip.  Many  others  seemed  to  find 
a  kind  of  satisfaction  in  the  import  of  the  stories.  A 
knot  of  men,  who  were  waiting  at  the  post-office  for  the 
arrival  of  the  mail,  listened  to  suet  reports  as  each  other 
had  heard,  and  when  one  of  them  expressed  the  opinion 
that  Lem  was  a  bad  egg,  he  did  not  hear  a  dissenting 
voice. 

"  Like  enough  it  was  all  a  trick,  his  getting  to  Mount 
Zion  the  way  he  did,"  suggested  Major  Moydle,  who 
was  the  most  brilliant  theorist  and  irresponsible  pur- 
chaser in  the  county. 


•     A  Story  of  Western  Life.  189 

"What,  and  smash  up  a  steamboat  to  doit?"  asked 
the  postmaster. 

"  Like  enough,"  replied  the  Major,  cocking  his  hat  over 
his  eye  in  a  most  defiant  manner,  and  assuming  an  atti- 
tude of  self-defense.  "  There's  nothing  that  such  fellows 
won't  do  to  carry  their  point.  The  pilot  of  that  boat 
said  that  the  least  turn  of  the  wheel  one  way  or  the 
other,  would  settle  everything  in  such  a  scrape  as  that 
was.  He  swears  he  didn't  turn  it — probably  he  didn't; 
but  how  easy  it  would  have  been  for  that  Lem  to  have 
had  a  line  fastened  to  one  of  the  steering-chains  near 
the  rudder,  and  have  given  it  a  little  bit  of  a  haul  at  just 
the  right  minute." 

"That's  so,"  ejaculated  old  Captain  Dilman,  whose 
singing  and  honest  religious  ecstacy  had  had  so  profound 
an  effect  upon  Lem  on  the  night  of  the  Methodist  meet- 
ing. "  I've  been  around  the  world  three  times,  and  I 
know  such  a  trick  could  be  played,  easy  enough." 

Everybody  looked  at  the  stove  during  a  moment  of 
silence,  as  if  it  was  a  source  of  ideas;  then  storekeeper 
Potts  spoke  up — 

"  I  never  liked  that  fellow's  looks,"  said  he.  "  Perhaps 
the  Major  and  Captain's  right;  that  accounts  for  the 


190  The  Jericho  Eoad ; 

awful  face  Lem  always  had  when  he  thought  nobody  was 
looking  at  him.  There  seemed  to  be  something  awful  on 
his  mind — remorse,  like  enough,  for  destroying  so  much 
property  as  a  good  steamboat  amounts  to." 

"  And  for  killin'  his  father,"  suggested  a  countryman, 
who  was  caressing  the  stove-pipe. 

"Oh,  yes! — of  course — I  forgot  that,"  said  the  mer- 
chant. "  No  wonder  he  looked  as  he  did.  And  who 
knows  how  many  counterfeits  he  gave  out  in  change 
from  the  Squire's  store?" 

"  Guess  the  Squire  wouldn't  cry  much  if  he  knew  it," 
muttered  a  man  upon  whom  the  Squire  had  recently 
foreclosed  a  chattel  mortgage.  One  or  two  men  laughed. 
Mr.  Potts  put  on  a  deprecatory  expression,  but  took  care 
to  say  nothing  in  defense  of  his  rival. 

"  I  never  did  believe  in  sudden  conversions,"  remarked 
a  good,  kind-hearted  Presbyterian.  "  Here  'twas  told  all 
around  town  a  month  or  two  ago  that  that  boy  had  been 
born  again — now  look  at  him! " 

"  There's  counterfeit  conversions,  as  well  as  counterfeit 
money,"  retorted  the  Methodist  ex-sailor,  with  considrra 
ble  warmth.      "  That  peddler's  wagon   that  gave   short 
weights  all  around  the  county  a  year  ago,  was  druv'   by 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  191 

a  Presbyterian  in  good  standin'.  My  belief  is  that  Lem 
was  only  playin'  possum  when  he  made  out  that  he'd 
gave  himself  to  Jesus.  If  the  Squire  hadn't  set  him 
agin'  him  so,  like  enough  he'd  have  jined  the  Presbyteri- 
ans— then  what  'd  you  have  got  off  about  sudden  conver- 
sions ? " 

"  Mail  open ! "  shouted  the  postmaster,  in  time  to  pre- 
vent these  right-hearted  champions  from  contending  any 
longer  for  the  faith  as  it  was  delivered  unto  themselves. 

An  hour  later  the  conversation  above  had  been  welded 
into  the  symmetrical  statement  that  Lem  had  come  to 
Mount  Zion  for  the  express  purpose  of  issuing  counter- 
feit money;  that  he  had,  with  malice  aforethought, 
destroyed  the  steamboat,  and  killed  his  own  father  during 
the  excitement,  to  escape  recognition  by  the  parent  who 
had  tracked  him  everywhere  in  the  hope  of  reclaiming 
him ;  then,  his  peculiar  expression  was  due  to  remorse — • 
that  he  had  shammed  conversion,  that  he  had  passed 
much  bad  money  in  change  from  behind  the  Squire's 
counter,  and  that  the  Squire  had  winked  at  the  opera- 
tion. 

The  news  reached  the  Squire  through  his  own  pastor, 
who  earnestly  begged  a  denial  of  the  imputation  against 


192  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

his  parishioner's  honesty,  and  received  one,  couched  in 
language  so  positive  that  it  made  him  shudder  and  hurry 
away.  The  Squire's, eyes  flashed  fire  for  a  few  minutes; 
then  he  lapsed  into  his  accustomed  religious  melancholy, 
and  started  for  his  supper. 

"  What's  wrong  with  you  now,  and  why  wasn't  you 
home  to  dinner?"  was  the  greeting  the  Squire  received 
at  his  own  kitchen  door. 

"  I  was  busy  at  dinner  time,"  said  the  Squire,  "  and — 
O,  Marg'ret,  this  is  an  awful  wicked  world!  " 

"You  haven't  been  trustin'  no  other  good-for-nothin' 
that's  died  without  enough  to  pay  his  debts,  I  hope," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Barkum. 

"No,  Marg'ret,  I  haven't,"  replied  the  Squire,  with 
considerable  peevishness,  "  an'  it  ain't  fair  for  you  to  be 
all  the  time  thro  win'  that  one  case  up  to  me — every  other 
storekeeper  has  done  that  twenty  times.  But  Lein  's 
turned  out  a  counterfeiter!" 

"  An'  passed  some  bad  money  on  you  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Barkum,  setting  down  her  teacup.  "I  never  thought 
you'd  get  caught  at " 

"Oh!  no,  Marg'ret,"  groaned  the^quire,  "what  makes 
you  snatch  me  up  so?  I  haven't  took  in  a  counterfeit 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  193 

for  a  year.  But  they  do  say  that  lie  smashed  up  that 
steamboat  himself — it  was  insured  in  the  Illinois  Mutual, 
too,  where  we  have  to  participate  in  ev'ry  loss ;  an'  that 
he  helped  kill  his  father,  an'  made-believe  got  religion, 
an'  passed  counterfeit  money  in  makin'  change  at  my 
store." 

"  Has  any  of  it  been  swore  back  on  you  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Earkum. 

"  No,"  said  the  Squire. 

"Then  I  wouldn't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Barkum.  "  Besides,"  said  the  good  lady,  poising  a 
spoonful  of  apple-sauce  in  mid-air,  "  'twouldn't  cost  you 
anything  if  he  had  done  it." 

The  Squire  groaned,  and  hurriedly  whispered  u  sh — h 
— h!"  Slowly,  however,  he  seemed  to  realize  that  his 
wife  had  spoken  the  truth,  and  his  face  exhibited  a 
resigned  expression,  and  then  indicated  considerable  sat- 
isfaction, as  he  exclaimed: 

"  I  do  declare,  Marg'ret,  you  have  got  a  head  for  busi- 
ness. You've  hit  it,  even  if  any  of  the  bad  money  should 
be  traced  to  the  store.  But  just  isn't  it  a  special  provi- 
dence that  we  didn't  take  him  again  when  he  came  back 
from  Sam  Reeves?  Time  an'  again  I  felt  as  if  it  would 
9 


194  The  Jericho  Road; 

be  only  just  an'  merciful  to  hire  him  again,  but  some- 
thin'  inside  of  me  kep'  say  in'  <  don't  do  it.'  I  didn't 
once  imagine  'twas  a  voice  from  heaven.  I  actually  kept 
thinkin',  over  an'  over,  that  it  was  the  selfish  instincts 
of  a  depraved  nature,  like  all  men's  got.  I  hope  I  didn't 
grieve  the  Holy  Spirit  by  such  misunderstandin'." 

"  /  hope,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum,  laying  down  her  knife 
and  fork  with  an  imposing  crash,  "  that  you  didn't  com- 
mit the  unpardonable  sin.  'Tain't  no  small  matter,  layin' 
the  cloin's  of  God  to  your  own  sinful  nature.  What  are 
you  thinkin'  about,  starin'  out  of  the  window  that  way, 
Squire? — what  are  you  scribblin'  with  a  lead  pencil  for?" 

The  Squire  did  not  answer  for  a  moment;  then  he 
said: 

"Lem  was  in  an'  around  the  store  for  nine  weeks; 
'sposin'  he  made  change  only  once  a  day,  which  is  a 
small  average,  an'  only  gave  out  a  single  bad  dollar  each 
time,  I'm  fifty-four  dollars  ahead.  Let's  give  it  to  the 
Lord,  Marg'ret — it  ain't  right  to  keep  such  money;  an' 
if  we  subscribe  it  to  some  benevolent  society,  it'll  bring 
us  trade.  An'  the  Lord'll- 

"Why,  what's  the  man  thinkin'  about?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Barkum.  "  If  Lem  gave  out  a  bad  bill,  makin' 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  195 

change  for  you,  don't  you  'spose  he  took  a  good  one  out 
of  your  money-drawer  to  pay  for  it?  You  don't  make 
anything  by  it — don't  you  see?" 

The  Squire  dropped  his  head  in  his  hands.  "  Oh,  dear 
me,"  he  exclaimed,  "why  didn't  I  see  that  before? 
Now  if  anybody  should  swear  a  bill  back  on  me,  'twould 
be  a  dead  loss.  "We  took  him  out  of  charity,  Marg'ret, 
an'  if  we  lose  anything  by  him,  charity  ought  to  pay  for 
it.  Seein'  that  such  a  matter  may  come  up,  let's  cut  off 
our  subscriptions  to  the  Bible  Society  an'  everything 
else,  an'  mebbe  we'll  get  through  without  any  loss.  I 
wish  I  could  let  the  Lord's  business  alone,  so  he  could 
tend  to  it  himself — I  always  blunder  at  it." 


196  The  Jericho  Road  ; 


CHAPTEE    XXII. 

WESTERN    COURTS   AND   WESTERN   JUSTICE. 

LEM  galloped  along  toward  New  Philadelphia,  not  so 
much  from  fear  of  the  officers  of  the  law  as  of  Hixton. 
He  saw  from  the  bluff  overhanging  the  river  bottoms, 
the  steamboat  round  up  to  the  front  of  the  warehouse 
which  constituted  the  principal  part  of  New  Philadel- 
phia, and  he  quickened  his  pace.  He  threw  his  bridle 
over  one  of  the  pins  of  a  horse-rick  in  front  of  the  ware- 
house, and  was  stepping  upon  the  steamboat's  plank, 
when  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder;  looking  quickly 
around,  he  beheld  the  Sheriff  from  Mount  Zion.  Lem 
turned  pale,  and  then  red,  while  the  Sheriff  said: 

"  I  wasn't  looking  for  you,  but  I  guess  I'd  better  take 
you  along.  I've  got  your  boss." 

"Hixton?"  screamed  Lem. 

"Ah,  that's  the  secret,  is  it?"  exclaimed  the  Sheriff. 
"  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  you,  if  you  did  break  your  word." 

"  I  didn't,"  said  Lem,  with  considerable  indignation, 
u  J n 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  197 

"  Stop,  my  boy,"  said  the  Sheriff;  "  I'm  not  prose- 
cuting attorney,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  a  witness  against 
you.  Don't  say  a  word  that'll  commit  you,  unless  you 
do  it  to  your  own  lawyer — that's  my  advice.  But 
you're  going  to  have  a  hard  row  to  hoe.  And  I've  got 
an  unpleasant  duty  to  perform,  which  the  quicker  it's 
done  the  better."  So  saying,  the  Sheriff  slipped  a  pair 
of  handcuffs  upon  Lem's  wrists,  led  him  to  his  horse, 
and  placed  him  thereon.  Then  he  whistled  to  one  of  his 
deputies,  who  came  from  the  warehouse,  and  with  whom 
he  held  a  whispered  consultation,  after  which  he  mount- 
ed his  own  horse  and  led  Lem's  toward  the  village  of 
Mount  Zion,  seven  miles  distant.  "When  the  Sheriff  was 
well  out  of  sight,  his  assistant  started,  leading  a  horse 
upon  which  sat  Mr.  Binkle,  his  hands  fastened  behind 
his  back,  and  his  feet  strapped  under  the  saddle.  Ar- 
rived at  Mount  Zion  the  Sheriff  put  Lem  into  an  upper 
chamber,  and  Mr.  Binkle  into  the  single  cell  of  the  jail. 

The  regular  session  of  the  county  court,  which  opened 
on  the  first  day  of  the  following  week,  had  no  lack  of 
business  before  it.  Cases  of  assault  and  battery,  petty 
larceny,  neighborhood  quarrels,  suits  for  large  amounts  of 
money,  and  other  cases  peculiar  to  the  dockets  of  courts 


198  The  Jericho  Road; 

in  new  countries,  were  numerous,  but  the  grand  jury 
knew  its  business,  and  quickly  found  a  bill  of  indictment 
against  Lemuel  Pankett  for  conspiring  with  Martin 
Luther  Binkle,  and  other  persons  unknown  to  the  court, 
to  emit,  utter,  circulate,  pass  and  exchange  imitations  of 
the  notes  of  banking  institutions  in  good  repute.  About 
the  same  time  it  was  whispered  about  the  town  that  Mr. 
Binkle  had  turned  State's  evidence  against  the  remainder 
of  the  gang.  The  county  pulse  was  up  to  fever  heat; 
by  mutual  consent  the  attorneys  in  the  cases  on  the  cal- 
endar for  the  next  day  made  excuse,  so  an  hour  after  the 
court  opened,  the  clerk  shouted: 

"  The  State  vs.  Pankett." 

The  populace  had  evidently  anticipated  some  such 
accommodating  arrangement  for  an  early  trial,  for  the 
room  was  crowded.  Men  stood  in  the  window  sills,  and 
crowded  the  Judge  more  closely  than  was  comfortable, 
while  among  the  lawyers,  in  front  of  the  jury  box,  and 
directly  facing  the  prisoner,  on  a  chair  considerately 
placed  for  him  by  a  deputy  who  owed  him  considerable 
money,  sat  Squire  Barkum.  The  good  man's  mind  was 
too  severely  "overborne  by  sorrow  to  admit  of  his  being 
idly  curious:  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  out 


A  Story   of  Western  Life.  199 

of  the  window,  behind  the  Judge,  into  the  clouds — look- 
ing, as  he  afteward  said,  to  see  if  he  could  find  out 
where  sin  originated,  and  consequently,  like  most  human 
beings  who  meddle  with  things  above  their  comprehen- 
sion, looking  in  the  wrong  direction. 

"Lemuel  Pankett!  Lemuel  Pankett!  Lemuel  Pan- 
kett!" shouted  the  Sheriff;  "come  into  court!" 

The  crowd  near  the  door  opened,  and  in  a  moment 
Lem,  escorted  by  his  late  companion  at  cards  and 
tobacco,  Deputy-Sheriff  Turner,  was  conducted  to  the 
prisoner's  box.  Everybody  leaned  forward  and  enjoyed  a 
good  stare,  while  the  prisoner  dropped  his  eyes,  and  his 
face  flushed.  Good  Squire  Barkum  stood  up,  adjusted 
his  glasses,  and  looked  reproachfully  at  the  prisoner, 
noticing  which,  Lem  held  up  his  head  and  stared  defi- 
antly. The  sorrowful  old  man  groaned  and  sat  down. 

A  jury  was  soon  empaneled ;  the  only  question  pro- 
pounded to  any  juryman  by  Bill  Fussell,  who  had  volun- 
teered as  Lena's  counsel,  being  as  to  whether  he  had 
within  six  months  received  any  counterfeit  bank-notes 
which  he  believed  had  been  brought  into  the  county  by 
the  accused  or  any  supposed  accomplices.  Numerous 
witnesses  were  called,  and  established  the  fact  that  they 


200  The  Jericho  Koad  ; 

had  received  counterfeits,  mostly  large  notes,  which,  had 
in  every  case  been  traced  to  Lena  Pankett. 

Finally  the  clerk  said: 

«  Call  Martin  Luther  Binkle." 

"Martin  Luther  Binkle!  Martin  Luther  Binkle!  Mar- 
tin Luther  Binkle!  come  into  court!"  shouted  the 
Sheriff. 

Mr.  Binkle  soon  appeared,  assisted  by  a  deputy;  his 
handcuffs  were  removed,  and  he  took  the  witness-chair  as 
if  it  was  his  customary  lounging-place,  winked  at  his 
own  lawyer,  bowed  to  the  judge,  rubbed  his  hands,  and 
looked  about  him  with  an  air  of  general  proprietorship. 
When  the  oath  was  administered,  he  kissed  the  book 
with  a  hearty  smack,  as  if  he  enjoyed  the  operation; 
and  but  for  a  temporary  cloud  which  passed  over  his 
brow  as  he  noticed  something  apparently  unpleasing  in 
the  gallery,  he  seemed  a  good-natured,  wide-awake  busi- 
ness man. 

"  Mr.  Binkle,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  "  do  you 
know  Lemuel  Pankett,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar? " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"How  long?" 

"  A  few  days — about  a  fortnight,  say." 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  201 

"  Have  you  ever  known  him  to  have  counterfeit  money 
in  his  possession?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  How  much,  or  how  much  at  a  time?" 

"  Off  and  on,  perhaps  a  thousand  dollars — three  hun- 
dred dollars  on  one  single  occasion." 

"You  know  the  money  was  counterfeit?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"How?" 

"  Because  I'm  an  expert  in  that  sort  of  thing — I  sup- 
plied it  to  him  myself." 

"  Had  he  any  accomplices  ?" 

Mr.  Binkle  looked  at  his  counsel ;  the  lawyer  frowned. 

"  I  decline  to  answer  that  question,"  said  Mr.  Binkle. 
"  Under  my  arrangement  with  the  authorities,  I  am  only 
bound  to  give  such  evidence  as  will  criminate  the  pris- 
oner." 

"  Do  you  know  whether  he  spent  any  of  these  counter- 
feits?" asked  the  prosecutor. 

"Yes,  sir,  he  did." 

"  How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  he  hadn't  a  da — hadn't  a  cent  when  I  first 
saw  him,  and  was  half  crazy  because  he  hadn't.  I  gave 


202  The  Jericho  Eoad  ; 

him  a  twenty-dollar  counterfeit,  and  in  an  hour  he  was 
back  with  a  bottle  of  liniment,  and  nineteen  dollars  in 
money." 

"Any  other  cases?" 

"  I  gave  him  three  hundred  dollars  in  counterfeits  one 
day,  and  in  twenty-four  hours  he  was  back  with  three 
good  horses  and  nearly  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in 
good  money." 

"Did  anybody  else  give  him  any  bad  money  to 
spend?" 

"  Yes,  sir — my  partner." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"May  it  please  your  honor,"  exclaimed  ex- Judge 
Compston,  Binkle's  attorney,  springing  to  his  feet,  "  I 
object  to  the  witness  answering  that  question.  The  law 
holds  that  the  mere  possession  of  counterfeit  money  is  a 
misdemeanor,  and  punishable  to  the  full  extent  of  the 
law,  made  to  cover  the  worst  cases  of  counterfeiting. 

'  o 

The  witness  has  established  this.  I  object  to  the  put- 
ting to  him  of  any  irrelevant  questions." 

"  'Tain't  the  fair  thing  to  play  on  a  gentleman,  in  an 
up-and-down  business  transaction,"  remarked  the  wit- 
ness, looking  abound  him  for  sympathy. 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  203 

"  The  witness  will  be  quiet,"  said  tlie  Judge,  "  and  the 
prosecuting  attorney  must  be  bound  by  the  agreement 
which  was  made  by  the  State  with  the  witness." 

"  Cross-examine,"  said  the  prosecutor,  dropping  sulk- 
ily into  his  chair.  Bill  Fussell  arose  and  addressed  the 
witness  : 

"Do  you  believe  the  prisoner  knew  the  money  you 
gave  him  was  counterfeit?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  wouldn't  have  a  man  shove  queer  money 
for  me  after  he  knew  what  it  was — it  takes  all  business 
ways  right  out  of  him." 

""What  was  he  doing  at  New  Philadelphia  for  you?" 

"  Nothing." 

""What  were  you  doing  there?" 

"  Waiting  for  a  boat  to  take  me  out  of  the  country." 

"What  for?" 

"  I  thought  some  of  the  counterfeits  would  be  found 
out  pretty  soon,  I'd  got  off  such  a  lot  of  them  through 
him. 

"Was  he  going  with  you?" 

"No." 


204  The  Jericho  Road; 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  "hadn't  asked  him  to,  he  didn't  know  I  was 
going,  and  I  wouldn't  have  had  him  with  me  if  he'd 
wanted  to  go." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  he'd  found  out  what  my  business  was." 

"How  did  he  find  out?" 


A  pistol-shot  startled  the  court,  and  the  witness  fell 
out  of  his  chair,  bleeding  profusely  from  the  chest. 
Every  one,  the  Judge  included,  sprang  up,  and  the 
Judge  shouted,  "Mr.  Sheriff!  preserve  order!"  but  the 
Sheriff  hurried  to  the  side  of  the  wounded  man,  and 
whispered: 

"BillHixton?" 

"The  Bible  —  quick!"  gasped  the  witness.  "As  I 
hope  to  be  saved  from  hell,  the  boy  never  had  a  notion 
of  what  we  were  up  to,  and  was  trying  to  run  away  from 
us  when  he  was  caught.  I  acknowledge  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  to  be  -  " 

The  witness'  voice  failed  him.  His  face  twitched  into 
air«>nized  lines,  every  one  of  which  was  eloquent,  but 
nobody  could  read  them.  By  a  violent  effort  he  recov- 
ered his  voice,  and  gasped: 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  205 

"A  man  that — the  boy — loved  and  helped — told  him: 
he — was  the  only — only  friend  the  boy — ever  had,  if — if 
he  was  a — horse-thief.  I'm  dying — trusting  only  in  the 
— merits  of — Jesus  Christ " 

"  Shocking ! "  exclaimed  Squire  Barkum. 

"  It's  what  you'll  say  when  you  die,  isn't  it,  you  old 
scoundrel  ? "  said  Bill  Fussell,  confronting  the  Squire. 

"Mr.  Sheriff,  you  must  keep  order,"  said  the  judge. 
"  Who  else  will  the  prosecution  call  ?" 

"  Nobody,"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  as  the 
Sheriff  shouted  "Order!"  with  great  vigor,  and  sent 
deputies  in  search  of  the  murderer. 

"  Will  the  defense  call  any  one  ?" 

"  No,  your  honor — we  rest,"  said  Bill  Fussell,  "  arid 
trust  to  the  good  sense  of  the  jury." 

The  jurymen  looked  at  each  other,  and  exchanged 
some  rapid  words;  the  foreman  stood  up,  and  exclaimed: 

"Not  Guilty!" 

"  Order!  gentlemen,"  shouted  the  clerk.  "  Gentlemen 
of  the  jury,  arise  and  look  upon  the  prisoner;  prisoner, 
arise " 

But  a  tempest  of  cheers  drowned  the  voice  of  the 
clerk — everybody  crowded  around  Lem  to  shake  hands, 


206  The  Jericho  Road; 

some  of  the  jurymen  jumping  from  their  "benches  to 
participate.  The  court-room  was  nearly  emptied  as  Lem, 
leaning  upon  Bill  Fussell,  walked  out,  apparently  with 
some  difficulty.  The  Sheriff  sent  for  the  coroner  and  his 
own  horse,  the  former  to  sit  upon  Binkle,  and  the  latter 
for  himself  to  sit  upon  as  he  took  part  in  the  chase 
after  the  murderer.  But  a  hero,  who  had  emerged 
from  the  clutch  of  the  law,  was  greater  in  the  eyes  of 
the  public  than  either  a  dead  counterfeiter  or  a  live 
ruffian  —  so  most  of  the  village  followed  Lem,  or  broke 
into  groups  and  talked  about  him. 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  207 


CHAPTEK    XXIII. 

IN   WHICH    THE    HEKO    ESCAPES   FROM   THE    EOAD. 

LEM  and  liis  counsel  walked  slowly  down  the  main 
street  of  the  village.  Storekeepers  and  their  customers 
hurried  out  of  stores  to  shake  hands  with  Lem  and  con- 
gratulate him.  To  every  one  Lem  said  "Thank  you," 
but  he  did  not  seem  to  be  as  greatly  elated  as  a  man 
who  had  barely  escaped  State  prison  should  be.  As  the 
couple  passed  along  a  stretch  of  broad  fence  from  behind 
which  no  smiling  friends  approached,  the  young  lawyer 
said: 

"  Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  little  chap — you  act  as  if  I  was 
the  Sheriff.  What's  the  matter? " 

Lem  groaned.  "Oh,  lots  of  things,"  he  said.  "I 
haven't  got  any  money  to  give  you,  for  one  thing." 

"  Wipe  that  out,  then,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  I'd  have 
given  you  a  fifty,  poor  as  I  am,  for  the  chance  of  defend- 
ing you  if  I'd  known  how  the  case  was  going  to  turn 
out.  It'll  do  me  more  good  on  the  circuit  to  have  been 


208  The  Jericho  Road; 

your  counsel  in  this  case  than  all  the  work  I've  ever 
done  before.  What  else  is  on  your  mind? " 

"The  old  thing,"  sighed  Lem.  "Out  of  work  again. 
Everybody's  inakin'  a  fuss  over  me  to-day,  but  you'd  see 
how  they'd  scatter  if  I'd  ask  any  of  'em  for  a  job." 

The  lawyer  looked  down  compassionately,  almost  dis- 
dainfully, at  the  pinched  face,  glassy  eyes  and  bent  back 
of  the  figure  beside  him. 

"Look  here,  Lem,"  said  he;  "you're  no  more  fit  to 
work  than  a  tom-cat  is  to  take  hold  of  an  equity  case. 
Thafs  the  reason  people  don't  hire  you." 

"  I  am,  too,"  declared  Lem,  growing  straighter  and 
fuller  in  the  face,  and  brighter-eyed  for  a  moment.  "  Or 
I  was,"  said '  he,  catching  his  breath  and  dropping  back 
into  his  old  stoop  again. 

"  You  were,  before  that  infernal  old  Squire  took  you 
up  and  worked  you  out,"  said  Bill  Fussell.  "It's  an 
infernal  shame  that  a  church  member  like  he  is,  with 
plenty  of  money,  should  work  the  life  and  soul  right  out 
of  a  man.  I've  been  blazing  mad  about  it  a  hundred 
times." 

"  Nobody  prevented  him,"  said  Lem. 

The  young  lawyer's   complexion   deepened  from   its 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  209 

habitual  carmine  to  a  hue  almost  purple.  "Yes,"  said 
he,  "  and  I  was  one  of  the  people  that  kept  their  mouths 
shut.  What's  everybody's  business  is  nobody's  business. 
I'm  going  right  across  the  street  and  have  it  out  with 
the  old  scoundrel — and  myself." 

"Don't,  please  don't,"  said  Lem,  clutching  the  law- 
yer's arm  tightly.  "  Help  me  down  to  My vy's,  where  I 
used  to  stay — I  can  never  get  there  alone." 

""Why,  what  do  you  want  to  go  to  that  dirty  hole 
for?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"  They  think  enough  of  me  to.  trust  me  for  my  board," 
said  Lem — "  nobody  else  does." 

"  But  you'll  have  to  live  like  a  hog  there,"  said  the 
lawyer,  "and  you  need  to  be  taken  care  of.  Myvy 's  a 
drunken  beast,  and  his  wife 's  the  dirtiest  looking  woman 
in  town;  they  never  have  anything  unless  they  steal  it,  I 
guess." 

"They  were  always  kind  to  me,"  said  Lem;  "nobody 
else  was,  even  if  they  stole  what  they  had." 

"  Go  back  to  Ben  Ringsell's,"  said  the  young  lawyer, 
turning  purple  again;  "I'll  pay  your  board  for  a  month, 
and  I'll  find  you  something  to  do — somebody 's  got  to 
give  you  a  job." 


210  The  Jericho  Road ; 

The  couple  had  just  passed  the  post  office,  when  out 
rushed  the  postmaster.  "  Hurrah  for  you,  Lem ! "  said 
he.  "  Glad  to  see  you  out.  Here's  a  letter  for  you." 

"From  mother!"  said  Lem,  looking  two  or  three 
years  younger  very  suddenly.  "  No,  it  ain't,"  he  con- 
tinued, his  countenance  falling.  "  Who  else  wants  to 
send  me  a  letter? " 

"  Maybe  you  could  find  out  by  breaking  it  open," 
suggested  the  lawyer. 

Lem  acted  upon  the  advice  of  his  counsel,  and  took 
from  the  envelope  two  fifty  dollar  notes  and  a  scrap  torn 
from  a  newspaper  margin ;  upon  this  latter  was  scrawled, 
in  pencil,  the  following  message: 

"  fKum  a  nuther  uv  old  binkuls  korpsiZ.  tak  kare  oY 
yewwer  muthar.  darnm  binkul  keep  a  Stif  uper  lip. 
moar  a  kummen." 

Lem's  face  was  blankness  itself  as  he  handed  the  letter 
to  the  lawyer. 

"  No  signature,"  said  Bill  Fussell.  "  "What's  the  post- 
mark?— New  Philadelphia,  eh?  Hello,  this  envelope's 
been  turned;  perhaps  the  inside  will  throw  some  light 
on  the  subject."  The  lawyer  tore  open  the  ends  of  the 
envelope,  and  read,  from  the  inside  of  the  back:  "Thomas 
Lodge;  what  post-office  is  this?  he  is  addressed— 


A  Story  of   Western  Life.  211 

Lem  snatched  the  envelope,  tore  it  into  a  thousand 
pieces,  threw  it  into  the  mud  and  trampled  upon  it.  Bill 
Fussell  looked  surprised  and  said: 

"  Why,  don't  you  want  to  know  where  your  friends 
hang  out  their  shingles?" 

"  No,"  said  Lem,  "  I  don't  want  to  do  nothin'  but  get 
into  a  bed  somewhere.  I  can't  hardly  stand  up.  Can't 
you — get  one  of  these  changed,  so  I  can  send  ninety 
dollars  to  my  mother — right  away.  I'll  keep  ten — I 
feel  as  if  I  was  goin  to  be  reel  sick." 

"  I'll  send  it  for  you,"  said  Fussell ;  "  come  along  to 
Een  Ringsell's  now." 

They  started;  the  lawyer  became  conscious  that  Lem 
leaned  heavier  and  heavier  upon  his  arm.  Suddenly 
Lena's  grasp  relaxed  and  he  fell  upon  the  pavement  in 
front  of  Squire  Barktim's  store.  The  lawyer  placed  his 
new  hat  under  Lem's  head,  dashed  across  the  street  to 
the  hotel,  snatched  the  brandy  bottle  (whose  location  he 
well  knew)  from  before  the  eyes  of  the  astonished  pro- 
prietor, and  hurried  back.  Several  men  appeared  sud- 
denly, apparently  from  nowhere,  and  from  his  own  front 
door,  behind  which  he  had  been  watching  Lem's  ap- 
proach, and  composing  a  speech  congratulatory,  concilia- 
tory and  scriptural,  appeared  the  Squire  himself. 


212  The  Jericho  Road ; 

Dr.  Beers,  who  happened  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  be 
riding  by,  jumped  from  his  carriage,  the  Squire's  pastor 
emerged  from  the  post-office  door  followed  by  the  post- 
master, while  the  circuit  judge,  who  had  been  compelled 
to  adjourn  court  because  of  the  excitement  in  the  room, 
came  down  the  street  at  a  most  unjudicial  pace. 

"Stand  back,  everybody!"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 
"  Air  is  what  he  needs." 

For  two  or  three  minutes  there  was  utter  silence;  the 
doctor  knelt  with  his  fingers  on  Lena's  pulse,  and  at  last 
whispered: 

"  You  can't  last  much  longer,  Lem." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Lem ;  "  I  want  to  be  prayed  for." 

In  an  instant  good  Squire  Barkum  was  upon  his  knees 
on  the  brick  pavement.  He  had  got  as  far  as  "Almighty 
God,  we  thine  unworthy — "  when  the  dying  man  said  in 
a  very  thin  voice,  but  yet  with  considerable  energy: 

"  Get  up — I  don't  want  your  prayers — I  want  some 
good  person's." 

The  Squire's  clasped  hands  fell  from  their  devotional 
pose,  his  eye-brows  raised,  and  his  lower  jaw  dropped. 

"Get  up,"  repeated  Lem.  "I  don't  want  anything 
from  anybody  that'll  listen  to  you.  Oh,  God! — I'm 
killed!" 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  213 

Again  the  Squire  dropped  on  his  knees,  perhaps  with 
some  desire  to  change  the  subject  of  his  late  conversa- 
tion. 

"Who  killed  you? "  asked  the  old  man. 

Lem  slowly  and  with  great  difficulty  raised  himself 
on  one  elbow,  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  Squire,  and  ex- 
claimed: 

"YOU!" 

The  Squire  slowly  got  upon  his  feet,  fell  back,  leaned 
against  the  front  of  his  store,  and  gazed  into  the  limbs 
of  a  tree  on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk.  The  doctor  bent, 
his  head  close  to  Lem  and  said: 

"  You  haven't  got  time  to  be  particular,  Lem,  but  is 
there  anybody  you'd  particularly  like  to  have  pray  for 
you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  whispered  Lem,  "  Bill  Hixton." 

A  murmur  ran  through  the  little  crowd;  somebody 
elbowed  a  way  through  the  bystanders  and  bent  over 
Lem;  it  was  the  Sheriff. 

"Lem,"  said  he,  "you're  dying.  Bill  Hixton's  a 
thief.  You  know  something  about  him.  Don't  go  into 
the  presence  of  God  with  any  concealed  sin  on  your 
conscience.  Do  you  know  where  Bill  Hixton  is?" 


214:  The  Jericho  Road; 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"Out  of  your  reach,"  gasped  Lem,  with  a  happy 
smile. 

"Who  else?"  whispered  the  doctor,  after  a  moment's 
pause. 

"  Send  for  Aunty  Bates,"  whispered  Lem. 

"  She's  sick  abed,"  said  the  doctor. 

"Then  little  Billy  Miles,"  gasped  Lem.  "Oh 

mother! " — The  sick  man  closed  his  eyes  and  went  into  a 
court  in  which  there  is  no  danger  that  the  innocent 
will  suffer  for  the  guilty,  and  in  which  turning  state's 
evidence  will  not  save  scoundrels. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  215 


CHAPTEE    XXIY. 

TWO    COUPLES    OF    PENITENTS. 

THE  inhabitants  of  Mount  Zion  were  not,  as  a  body, 
familiar  with  the  course  of  all  human  history,  or  with  the 
habits  of  the  best  society,  but  they  had  in  them  one  of 
those  qualities  of  nature  which  make  the  world  akin, 
and  show  that  the  ancient  Greek  and  the  modern  negro, 
the  French  aristocrat  and  the  New  York  rowdy,  are 
men  of  the  same  blood — they  knew  how  to  heap  upon 
a  corpse  the  kind  attentions  which  they  had  withheld 
from  its  owner.  Lem's  funeral  was  the  finest  one  which 
Mount  Zion  had  ever  known.  The  coffin  was  as  superb 
a  thing  as  the  rival  cabinet-makers  of  Mount  Zion  could 
turn  out  between  them ;  the  nails  had  real  silver  heads, 
extemporized  from  five-cent  coins  by  an  ingenious  inhab- 
itant, and  the  plate  upon  the  lid  made  up  in  ornamental 
flourishes  what  the  paucity  of  information  current 
about  Lem's  age,  etc.,  caused  to  be  lacking  in  the  length 
of  the  inscription.  The  inside  was  trimmed  with  fine 
silk,  and  in  considerable  taste,  the  most  high-toned 


216  The  Jericho  Eoad ; 

ladies  in  the  town  contending  with  each  other  for  a  share 
in  the  work.  The  best  of  the  two  hearses  in  the  town 
was  newly  varnished,  the  two  cabinet-makers  combined 
their  span  of  horses,  and  both  gentlemen  sat  npon  the 
driver's  box.  The  court  adjourned,  by  request  of  all  the 
members  of  the  bar,  and  the  Judge  rode  in  the  first 
buggy,  with  the  Methodist  pastor,  who  had  claimed  the 
mournful  pleasure  of  officiating,  on  account  of  Lem's 
probationary  membership  in  his  church.  In  the  next 
conveyance  rode,  as  chief  mourners,  little  Billy  Miles 
and  Aunty  Bates,  who  had  got  out  of  bed  for  the  pur- 
pose. Behind  them  was  a  buggy  in  which  sat  the  Sheriff 
and  Bill  Fussell,  each  in  a  new  shiny  hat  and  a  solemn 
countenance.  After  these  came  everybody  in  the  county, 
in  buggies,  farm  wagons,  on  horse-back  and  on  foot; 
some  horses  carried  two  riders  each,  and  in  an  old  stage- 
coach, looking  as  disreputable  and  sad  as  themselves, 
rode  the  loafers  from  Micham's  rum-shop.  The  proces- 
sion was  so  long  that  it  extended  through  the  entire 
length  of  the  main  street.  After  it  had  turned  out  toward^ 
the  little  cemetery,  however,  a  rapidly  driven  buggy  con- 
taining the  Squire  and  Mrs.  Barkum  took  a  place  in  the 
rear,  and  followed  the  others;  then  a  couple  of  horse- 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  217 

men,  with  very  clean-shaven  faces,  short  hair,  new  and 
badly-fitting  black  clothes,  galloped  out  of  a  side  road 
and  fell  into  line  behind  the  Squire's  buggy. 

"  Marg'ret,"  said  the  Squire,  "  the  sin  of  blood-guilti- 
ness is  onto  us." 

"  Squire,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum,  "  I  know  it.  It's  good 
we  ain't  livin'  under  the  old  dispensation,  where  blood 
had  to  pay  for  blood." 

"  We're  worse  off  than  that,  Marg'ret,"  said  the 
Squire.  "  There's  only  one  thing  we  can  atone  for  it 
with." 

"  What's  that?"  asked  the  tearful  lady. 

"  Money,"  groaned  the  Squire. 

"  That's  so,"  sighed  his  wife. 

"  Lodge,"  said  one  of  the  smoothly-shaved  men,  "  it's 
awful  solemn.  I  wish  I  hadn't  shot  Binkle,  almost." 

"  Sh — h — h!"  whispered  the  other  man.  "I'll  run 
any  risk  to  follow  that  boy  to  the  last  of  him,  but  I 
don't  want  to  be  throwed  away.  I  wish  I  was  in  the 
hearse  with  him." 

"  Don't  be  a fool,"  replied  Hixton.  "  You  helped 

put  him  there;  you've  got  to  do  lots  for  his  old  woman 
10 


218  The  Jericho  Road  ; 

before  you'll  stand  a  chance  of  layin'  comfortable  in  a 
hearse." 

"  That's  so,"  whispered  the  counterfeiter. 

"  Marg'ret,"  said  the  Squire,  "  we've  got  to  support 
the  family." 

"  Let's,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum. 

"  "We've  got  to  eddicate  the  children,"  continued  the 
Squire. 

"  I  'spose — we  must,"  said  Mrs.  Barkum,  rubbing  her 
eyes. 

"  If  we  was  in  that  hearse,  Mar — " 

u  Don't  Squire — don't,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Barkum.  "  I 
ain't  as  strong  as  I  used  to  be." 

"  If  we  was  there,  Marg'ret,"  repeated  the  Squire, 
"  our  money'd  go  to  the  county,  and  nobody  knows 
who'd  spend  it.  Let's  give  it  all  to  the  Lord  some  way 
or  other  while  we've  got  a  chance." 

"  Anything,  Squire,"  sobbed  the  old  lady. 

"  We've  got  to  come  to  it  some  day,"  said  the  counter- 
feiter to  his  companion. 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  talk  about  it,"  said  the  horse- 
thief. 

"  I  only  wish  we  was  as  good  and  ready  as  he  was," 
said  Lodge. 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  219 

"  "We  never  will  be — the  miserable  little  pinclied-np, 
knocked-kneed  cuss,"  said  Hixton. 

"L  et's  swear  off  ev'ry  thing,"  suggested  Lodge. 

"  Agreed,"  said  Hixton.  "  Shake  hands  on  it.  The 
way  the  air  feels  I  reckon  there's  a  witness  mighty  close 
at  hand." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Lodge. 

As  the  cortege  reached  the  little  cemetery,  it  seemed 
there  were  not  fences  enough  in  the  neighborhood  to  tie 
all  the  horses  to,  and  the  interior  of  the  cemetery 
appeared  to  be  a  very  lively  corral.  The  grave  had  been 
dug  beside  that  of  Lem's  father,  and  everybody  crowded 
as  near  to  it  as  possible — everybody  but  the  Squire,  his 
wife,  the  counterfeiter,  and  the  horse-thief.  When  the 
ceremonies  were  concluded  and  the  people  turned  to  leave 
the  grave,  Lodge  and  Hixton  galloped  oif,  as  if  to  dodge 
the  eye  of  justice,  and  the  Squire  drove  away  rapidly, 
apparently  with  the  same  end  in  view. 


220  The  Jericho  Road; 


CONCLUSION. 

AFTER  the  villagers  had  sufficiently  discussed  the  cir- 
cumstances of  Lem's  final  disappearance,  it  became  slowly 
evident  that  a  change  had  taken  place  in  Squire  Barkum. 
He  was  no  less  sharp  in  his  bargains  than  ever,  but  it 
was  noticed  that  after  he  had  transacted  his  business 
with  people  who  might  possibly  be  in  financial  straits, 
he  dropped  his  elbows  on  the  counter,  his  head  on  his 
hands,  and  pumped  them  with  great  persistency.  Then 
it  was  noised  abroad  that  the  Squire  had  absolutely 
forced  an  excellent  assortment  of  groceries,  and  materials 
for  winter  clothing  upon  the  widow  Morrow,  who  had  for 
several  years  been  trying  to  maintain  in  comfort  three 
children  too  small  to  work,  and  had  failed  most  pitifully. 

Then  the  village  postmaster  felt  that  he  violated  no 
bond  of  secresy  in  saying  that  every  week  the  Squire 
received  a  letter,  most  illegibly  addressed,  and  post- 
marked with  the  name  of  Lem's  native  village.  It  was 
aleo  remarked  by  the  Squire's  competitors  that  about 


A  Story  of  Western  Life.  221 

once  a  week,  and  nearly  every  week,  the  poor  old  man 
appeared  at  their  stores  in  quest  of  a  ten -dollar  bill  on 
some  eastern  bank,  and  that  he  objected  strongly  to  using 
a  twenty. 

One  day  a  steamboat  from  Cincinnati  dropped  in  front 
of  one  of  the  Mount  Zion  warehouses  several  heavy 
packages  of  boxed  stone,  not  entirely  concealed. 
Mount  Zion  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  finally  gratified 
by  the  sight  of  a  shapely  monument  over  Lem's  remains. 
Upon  the  four  sides  of  the  square  shaft  were  Bible  pas- 
sages, not  exactly  innumerable,  but  extremely  frequent, 
and  all  of  them  hinting  at  the  salvation  and  con- 
sequent bliss  of  those  who  did  what  they  could,  and 
loved  much. 

Then  people  heard  that  the  Squire's  pastor  was  very 
much  exercised  about  the  state  of  his  parishioner's  mind. 
The  old  merchant  seemed  first  inclined  to  pick  flaws  in 
the  doctrine  of  vicarious  atonement,  and  then  to  substi- 
tute Lena  Pankett  for  the  sacred  person  whose  atoning 
merits  he  had  previously  made  the  excuse  for  all  his  own 
sins.  The  Squire,  too,  had  become  possessed  of  the  idea 
that  he  had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin.  The  cler- 
gyman cbmbatte'd  the  notioiij  Until,  during  an  unexpected 


222  The  Jericho  Road. 

logical  spasm,  it  struck  him  that  the  Squire  was  rather 
happier  with  the  idea  of  going  to  hell  than  he  had  pre- 
viously been  with  his  hope  of  heaven;  so  he  left  the 
Squire  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  fears,  and  devoted  his 
energies  to  the  task  of  encouraging  the  old  man  to  make 
the  best  possible  use  of  his  remaining  time  and  large 
property. 

As  for  the » remaining  good  people  at  Mount  Zion, 
some  of  them  followed  the  Squire  afar  off,  and  some  of 
them  made  haste  to  be  blind  and  deaf,  lest  they  should 
open  their  hearts  and  pockets  and  be  born  again.  The 
results  of  Lem's  death  were  as  good  as  could  have  been 
expected,  when  one  thinks  of  how  little,  in  comparison 
with  their  gigantic  possibilities,  the  life  and  death  of  the 
Man  of  Sorrows  accomplished.  But  some  men  saw  that 
if  the  poor  were  not  helped  for  God's  sake,  they  would 
be  Satan's,  and  that,  in  the  latter  event  the  church  and 
society  would  both  have  to  suffer,  while  no  one  reaped 
any  benefit.  So,  for  the  sake  of  their  pockets,  some 
hard  heads  and  harder  hearts  took  a  share  in  the  work 
which,  for  humanity's  sake  only,  they  would  never  have 
touched. 

THE   END. 


MEMORIES  :    A  Story  of  German  Love. 

From  the  German  of  Max  Muller,  by  George  P.  Upton.  Small  4to, 
173  pages,  red-line,  tinted  paper,  full  gilt.  Holiday  edition. 
Price  $2.00. 

" '  Memories '  is  one  of  the  prettiest  and  worthiest  books  of  the  year.  The 
story  is  full  of  that  indescribable  half-naturalness,  that  effortless  vraisemblance, 
which  is  so  commonly  a  charm  of  German  writers,  and  so  seldom  paralleled  in 
English.  *  *  *  Scarcely  could  there  be  drawn  a  more  lovely  figure  than  that 
of  the  invalid  Princess,  though  it  is  so  nearly  pure  spirit  that  earthly  touch 
seems  almost  to  profane  her.  *  *  *  As  a  specimen  of  book-making,  this 
'  Memories '  is  admirable.  Its  paper,  typography  and  red-lined  pages  are  dainty, 
as  the  contents  deserve." — SPRINGFIELD  REPUBLICAN. 


GRAZIELLA  :    A  Story  of  Italian  Love. 

From  the  French  of  A.  de  Lamartine,  by  James  B.  Runnipn.  Small 
4to,  235  pages,  red-line,  tinted  paper,  full  gilt,  uniform  with 
holiday  edition  of  "  Memories."  Price  $2.00. 

'"  Graziella'  is  a  poem  in  prose.  The  subject  and  the  treatment  are  both 
eminently  poetic.  *  *  *  It  glows  with  love  of  the  beautiful  in  all  nature.  * 
*  *  It  is  pure  literature,  a  perfect  story,  couched  in  perfect  words.  The  sen- 
tences have  the  rhythm  and  flow,  the  sweetness  and  tender  fancy  of  the 
original.  It  is  uniform  with  '  Memories,'  the  fifth  edition  of  which"  has  just 
been  published,  and  it  should  stand  side  by  side  with  that  on  the  shelves  of 
every  lover  of  pure,  strong  thoughts  put  in  pure,  strong  words.  '  Graziella '  is  a 
book  to  be  loved."— TRIBUNE. 


MARIE  :    A  Story  of  Russian  Love. 

From  the  Russian  of  Alexander  Pushkin,  by  Marie  H.  de  Zielinska. 
Small  4to,  210  pages,  red-line,  tinted  paper,  full  gilt,  uniform 
with  holiday  editions  of  "Memories"  and  "Graziella."  Price 
$2.00. 

"  It  is  a  tale  that  ranks  very  high  in  the  original,  is  very  simply  and 
quaintly  written,  and  is  full  of  incident,  and  of  descriptions  of  strange,  semi- 
savage  life  at  the  military  posts  of  the  extreme  Russian  frontier.  It  is  the 
third  in  the  series  of  which  '  Memories,  a  Story  of  German  Love,'  and  '  Graziella, 
a  Story  of  Italian  Love.'  were  the  first  and  second.  These  were  extremely  suc- 
cessful books,  and  '  Marie '  is  a  worthy  successor.  It  is  a  very  popular  series  for 
the  holidays."— AMERICAN  BOOKSELLER. 


Either  or  all  of  the  above  sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of 
price  by  the  publishers. 

JAtfSEN,  McCLURG  &  CO.,  Chicago. 


A  SUMMER  IN  NORWAY. 

With  Notes  on  the  Industries,  Habits,  etc.,  of  the  People,  the  History 
of  the  Country,  the  Climate  and  Productions,  and  of  the  Red 
Deer,  Reindeer  and  Elk,  by  Hon.  J.  D.  Caton,  LL.D.  8vo,  401 
pages.  Illustrated.  Price  $2.50. 

THE  TRIBUNE  says :  "  Judge  Caton  is  a  veteran  traveler.  He  is  a  man 
of  acute  observation,  and  from  long  experience,  as  well  as  natural  capacity,  is 
apt  to  learn  something  more,  and  to  understand  and  find  out  more,  than  the 
ordinary  traveller.  *  *  Of  all  this  he  has  made  a  readable  and  entertaining 
book — a  book  which  is  apt  to  create  in  the  reader  a  strong  desire  to  make  the 
same  journey  in  person." 

POEMS  OF  THE  FARM  AND  FIRESIDE. 

By  Eugene  J.  Hall.  8vo,  114  pages.  Fully  Illustrated.  Plain,  price 
$1.75  ;  full  gilt,  price  $2.25. 

THE  INTERIOR  says:  "In  vigor  and  pathos  they  are  certainly  equal— 
we  should  say  superior — to  Carleton's  Farm  Ballads ;  in  humor  scarcely  inferior 
to  the  Biglow  Papers." 

FIRST  FAMILIES  OF  THE  SIERRAS. 

A  Novel.     By  Joaquin  Miller.     12mo,  258  pages.    Price  $1.50. 

THE  GALAXY  says:  "The  book  is  dramatic,  full  of  incident  and  inven- 
tion, and  written  in  an  cpigramatic  and  attractive  style.  *  *  The  characters 
are  striking  and  unusual,  and  the  'First  Fam' lies'  is  really  one  of  the  most 
agreeable  books  of  the  year." 

THE  AUTOMATON  EAR, 

And  Other  Sketches.    By  Miss  Florence  McLandburgh.    282  pages. 

Price  $1.50. 

PROF.  H.  W.  LONGFELLOW  says :  "  I  have  read  the  '  Automaton  Ear'  from 
beginning  to  end  with  great  interest.  It  is  powerfully  written,  and  excites  the 
organ  of  wonder  very  strongly,  almost  too  strongly  sometimes.  I  am  particu- 
larly struck  by  the  author's  descriptions  of  natural  scenery.  They  are  fresh  and 
beautiful,  and  show  not  only  a  love  of  nature  but  a  clear  observation  and 
insight." 

TRUTHS  FOR  TO-DAY. 

By  Prof.  David  Swing.  First  Series.  12mo,  335  pages,  tinted  paper. 
Price  $1.50.  Second  Series.  12mo.  294  pages,  tinted  paper. 
Price  $1.50. 

THE  INDEPENDENT  says:  "The  American  pulpit  has  sent  forth  few  vol- 
umes of  sermon  richer  in  thought,  more  devout  m  sentiment,  more  admirable 
in  statement,  or  fairer  in  outward  fashioning  than  these  volumes  of  sermons  of 
Mr.  Swing." 

Any  of  the  above  sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price  by 
the  publisher*. 

JANSEN,  McCLURO  &  CO.,  Chicago. 


14  DAY  USE 

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